


It's Not Gay if You Don't Hold Hands

by sarasaurusrex, VanillaMelancholia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 10, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Castiel, Bloodplay, Bottom Sam, Bunker Sex, Castiel Does Not Understand, Chains, Chick-Flick Moments, Cock Cages, Cock Rings, Cockblock Gadreel, Crowley Being an Asshole, Crowley high on Sam's blood, Crowley's extra three inches, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Demon Dean Winchester, Devil's Trap, Devil's Trap Sex, Dom Crowley, Enthusiastic Consent, Ezekiel | Gadreel Possessing Sam Winchester, Face-Fucking, Feelings, First Time Bottoming, Gabriel Lives, Gabriel Ships It, Gabriel is a Little Shit, Handcuffs, Heavy Bondage, Large Cock, Light Bondage, Like So Many Feelings, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Matchmaker Gabriel, Men of Letters Bunker, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Post-Season/Series 09, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Sam's Bitchface, Sam's Terrible Life, Scents & Smells, Season/Series 10 Spoilers, Shower Sex, Silk - Freeform, Supernatural Convention, Teeth, Top Crowley, Vessel Sam, Vibrators, Winged Castiel, Wings, actual BDSM, but we love him, extracting/injecting blood with needles, improvised cock rings, motel sex, tongue-fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 114,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4143834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarasaurusrex/pseuds/sarasaurusrex, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaMelancholia/pseuds/VanillaMelancholia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in an alternate universe following the conclusion of Season 9, Sam finds Crowley before he joins up with a newly awakened demon!Dean, and Castiel finds Dean before he can run off on his own. </p>
<p>Sam traps Crowley in order to find out what happened to Dean, and Crowley finds that using cunning, wit, and a little sex appeal can do wonders in gaining the upper hand. Meanwhile, both Dean and Castiel have their secrets: Dean is becoming more demonic by the day, and Castiel refuses to replenish his grace, growing weaker--and more human--by the moment. </p>
<p>As Castiel learns that Dean's mounting outbursts may not be all that human in nature, Crowley discovers that Sam may just be sharing another unwelcome bedfellow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction: Dean, Sam, and Crowley

**Author's Note:**

> This work is adapted from an ongoing RP between co-authors Sarasaurusrex (Sam and Castiel) and VanillaMelancholia (Dean and Crowley). We thought it was turning out pretty nicely, so we wanted to edit it up and shove it into the talent pool here on AO3! Hopefully, we measure up. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are appreciated! Mwah~!

"So... I'm a...."

"A demon. Yes, yes. I thought you understood after any of the first eighty-three times you said it. My mistake." Crowley shrugged, staring back at Dean from across the private room of the bunker.

Dean looked down at his hands, flexing them, observing them as if they'd show the marks of the change. But of course they didn't. He was just wishing they'd show him some presence of humanity instead. Despite all of these identity-shifting ideas problems, however, all he could manage in response was something far more pathetic: "... Well damn." 

"Your mastery of words never fails to amaze, Dean." Crowley stepped closer, pulling a small, flat compact from his pocket. "Still, if you're looking for that final nail in the proverbial coffin, please, be my guest. Take another a look at those pretty little black peepers of yours--"

"No," Dean spouted, swiping his hand out in front of him. "...No..." A moment passed. Dean shifted, letting his legs fall to the side of the bed as he stared at the worn wood flooring. 

Crowley put the mirror back in his pocket. "Fine. Deny it all you want, then. I happen to know that's a special trait shared amongst the brethren of the Winchester clan." 

Dean's eyes flickered up to meet Crowley's in a glare that would make any demon surrogate parent proud.

Crowley's brow raised in mock surprise, but he did nothing to hide his smile. "...All I'm saying... is that once your dear bother Sam has finished his summoning spell for me and he's forced to take the next step in his day--giant step, I might add, with those legs of his--wouldn't it be so much easier for him to return to an empty room... rather than a room containing a monster of a brother?"

Dean's stare softened. It dropped to the floor before him again.

"... I thought so." Crowley took a few more steps, then sat down on the bed beside Dean. "Brother or not, Sam is a hunter... and you aren't anymore. You're what he hunts. And once he finds out, he's always going to be juggling his love for you as a brother, and his hatred for you ..." He leaned in close. "...as an abomination."

Dean leaned away, casting his gaze sidelong at a wall. 

"So go." Crowley cooed, standing from the bed and walking into Dean's line of sight. "If not for your own safety and peace of mind... then for Sam's.” His eyes crinkled with the hints of a gentle, but inarguably sick smile. “You know it's the only way."

Dean looked up at him again. Behind his poker face, the gears in his head were turning. And turning. And moments later, in one of the hardest decisions he'd made, he moved. He leaned over to the side of the bed, picking up a pad of paper from the top drawer. He scribbled something down on its surface. And when the pen was put back down and the page ripped out, Dean stood up. He walked to the door.

"...Good choice, Dean." Crowley said, the pride audible in his voice. "If you're ever looking for a little guidance... or maybe some work on the side -- a cleanup job here, a soul contract there -- you know who to call."

"Hey." Dean barked, turning quickly on his heel to face Crowley, clutching the note in his hand. "I'm not doing this for you, I'm not doing this because you told me to. There's only one reason why I'm listening to you right now, and one reason only... And that's for Sammy." He slammed his note down on a side table, taking the doorknob into his other hand. His expression was piercing, body prickling. And the moment before he left, he blinked, his eyes flickering black. "Don’t you forget that." 

The door slammed behind him.

Crowley stood in silence for a moment after Dean's departure. He smiled. "Ooo. Daddy likes it when he talks dirty like that. Hmm." He chuckled. And with a snap of his fingers, he, too, was gone.

\--

Dean knelt, throwing his arm out to smack a wall panel beneath a low table in the study. A small, hidden door gave way, and he snatched up a gray-green bag he kept stored for quick get aways. He slung it over his shoulder, taking one final stock of the room before heading for the door. He stopped at the center table, however. His eyes passed over the form of a long, suede pouch. The First Blade.

He looked over his shoulder. With a casual inhale, he unzipped his bag, quickly throwing the pouch inside of it before zipping it back up and throwing it back over his shoulder. After that, his path to the door was undeterred. Then he was gone. 

\--

Sam's eyes had been fixed on Crowley's spot like fire, as if he were pulling Crowley from the depths of Hell through sheer force of will. In that dark moment, Sam's will was more wild and desperate than ever, his instincts spiraling faster the longer he went without a response from Crowley. Every second that passed felt like another nail in his brother's coffin. This had to work. This couldn't be the end. So why wasn't Crowley here?

All at once, that familiar sensation of air disappearing from a room and being filled overcame Sam. Sam didn't move. He knew exactly where Crowley would appear, and he was looking him dead in the eye.

"Hello, Moose. Long time no see." Crowley smiled at Sam, staring at him from where he stood in the middle of... Crowley looked casually around his feet. A Devil's Trap. He didn't look surprised in the slightest. 

"Love what you've done with the place since last I was here... It's got that nice, dank, something-likely-died-here-last-week feel you look for in the market when purchasing a dungeon." He leaned a little closer, his voice quieting. "... Not so sure about this interpretive artwork on the floor, though... It's a little too postmodern for my tastes. Don't you think?" 

Sam's eyes were red and bleary, but his jaw was set, shoulders hunched at the edge of the Devil's Trap. Despite this, there was something like relief in him. His patience, however, was gone, "I need you to save Dean." He commanded without hesitation. 

"It's nice to see you, too," Crowley responded under his voice. "Dean... “ He hummed mockingly, feigning ignorance. “Dean Winchester, I'm assuming? Because if so..." He raised his brows, pointing casually behind him. "I just showed him to the door. He seems quite... spritely. If you ask me. In no need of saving at all." 

Sam didn't take his eyes off Crowley. He stalked closer to the Devil's Trap, ignoring the direction all together, "Cut the crap, Crowley." He fumed, his expression dangerously close to spilling over, "You're not leaving that circle until you bring Dean back." He took a shallow breath, "That's the bargain. Your freedom, for Dean's life."

"Well, what—Samantha,” Crowley spat. “There's no need to take it out on me because you forgot the midol at your boyfriend's house this morning." He threw his hand in gesture towards the door. "If you don't believe me, have a look in his room. You'll notice it's Dean-free. And don’t be tricked by the red meat smell, it’s only lingering.” 

Sam tilted his head warningly, but when Crowley went on, he seemed to reevaluate, albeit apprehensively. A flicker of hope lit in him, but only for a moment. It felt sour and wretched coming from Crowley. He had watched Dean die in his arms. And this was Crowley he was dealing with. 

But... what if he was right?

He gave the Devil's Trap a good once over before making his decision. His eyes shot back up to Crowley, as if in warning, before moving to the door, turning his back on the demon only after he turned the corner.

Crowley raised his brow at Sam's inspection. And quietly, he watched him leave. Moments passed. 

Crowley cleared his throat. "Hm. Well..." He straightened his tie, sticking his hands into his pockets as he inspected the trap more thoroughly. "...Isn't he just a pocket full of sunshine." He mumbled to himself in a huff.

When that pocket full of sunshine returned, however, it was in a storm. Red, tear-stained eyes were wide with rage, an energy pulsing through him as he clutched a piece of paper baring Dean's handwriting, "What did you do." He voice nearly trembled.

Crowley blinked, reading the note quickly. "My... so that's what he wrote. Hm." He tilted his head in amusement, looking at Sam again. "Not much of a poet, is he?"

Sam glared mutinously at him, hands trembling, "Tell me where Dean is. Now." He threatened.

"Please, if you’ll turn off the steroid rage pump for just a moment and listen to me, you'll understand that I have no idea where Dean's gone to. What I can tell you is that he's alive, and that he's..." He paused. Crowley smiled. "Well... I saved him for you. No charge. He's alive, and poor little me didn't even get a soul out of it. Just... a favor I can cash in later." Crowley looked again at his feet. "And please… don’t make me cash it in so quickly as a means to be released from this poor excuse for a devil’s trap.” 

That wasn't the answer Sam wanted. His temper, however, seemed to have reached a tipping point. He snapped his gaze away, jaw rigid, eyes burning. Dean was... alive? He had to be. Crowley couldn't forge that note. Despite the relief flooding through him, Sam found himself plunged into a reality that was as ice cold as the last. Dean was in trouble. Crowley's presence only confirmed that. If Sam had learned anything over the years of living this life, he knew that death was final, and breaking that balance came at a cost sometimes greater than life itself.

Sam was done playing games.

Sam's eyes burned a line right to Crowley, and without a word, he turned away from the trap and moved to a workbench against the wall. Its surface was covered with a variety of foreign tools. Sam set the paper down beside them, his back towards Crowley.

Crowley's line of sight followed Sam's action, leading it right to that array of... 

The devil’s brows rose. "Now, now... Sam. There's no need to be harsh," he said, raising his hands in front of him. "No need to stoop to the level of unnecessary... persuasion tactics. When have I ever lied to you?" He looked up, considering his words. "Life is but a.. series of inconvenient truths. Your brother is alive... that's what's important. Right?" 

Sam didn't budge. He ignored every word from Crowley, moving back to him with something metal and glistening in his hands. Then, he was leaning over the Devil's Trap, and snapping Crowley's wrists in handcuffs. A Devil's Trap was etched into the cold, unforgiving metal. Sam's eyes flicked up to his purposefully, "The only truth I want to hear about, is what you did to Dean." He articulated, locking the handcuffs tight.

Crowley signed wistfully at the restraints. "Handcuffs? I should think you would have taken me out to dinner first..." He muttered. He continued, but a little more seriously. "I've told you everything, Sam. But since you would like me to reiterate, perhaps slowly this time for utter clarification: I caught wind of what happened. I appeared. I healed your brother with a little grade school demon magic. And without anything more than a huff and a personal insult, he was rocketing out the door. Straight business, no time for a little cuddle after at all." 

Sam studied him skeptically. His every instinct was telling him to leave Crowley where he was and go after Dean. But if Dean had indeed scribbled that note before bolting, he was long gone, and Crowley was the only means of finding him... of making sure he really was... alive, "Then why did he write the note?" He countered.

"Don't ask me! You're the one with the fabled Winchester temperament here, I would think you've got the best insight into the ape's journaling habits." Crowley shook his head, stepping forward in the trap, nearing Sam. "Now, let's stop being ridiculous and start letting me go now, huh, Sam?" He raised his wrists, the handcuffs clinking. "Should I put a cherry on top of this 'please?' " 

Sam tore his gaze away in frustration, mind racing. Even if Crowley truly didn't know where Dean went, he was still hiding something. All his answer meant was that there was no use going after Dean. Finally, he looked back to Crowley, regarding that step closer with only one possible course of action.

Before Crowley could move any further forward, Sam pushed him back, letting him sink into a metal chair in the center of the chamber, and the center of the trap. "It's a good thing you're so accustomed to this place, because you're not going anywhere until I find Dean." He muttered, grabbing the piece of paper off the workbench and putting it in his pocket, "I hope Hell has a good night maid."

The half smile that had spread into Crowley's features didn't last long. "Oh... Oh come on!" Crowley yelled, stomping his foot on the floor in tantrum. "This is no way to treat the one who saved your brother, Sam! I'm the hero here! Your knight in bloody shining armor!" Another kick. 

"How." Sam rounded on him, "I held his corpse!" Sam shouted, eyes bloodshot, "He died in my arms! You don't I think know how this works? No one just gets brought back. Not from an angel and not from a demon!"

"What you're forgetting, Samwise the Foolish, is that there were no utter complications in this one-- a death at the end of a blade. That's it," He laughed. "I'm the king of hell! I can resurrect a knife wound in my sleep!" 

The more sense Crowley made, the more uncertain Sam became, until finally, the question that had been weighing him down came to light: "Then why did he leave?" Sam eyed Crowley determinedly, "Why did he write that note?"

"Hah!" Crowley laughed, covering his face with a sidelong smile, aggravation touching its corners. "And we've gone full circle. Sam, I thought you were smarter than this. Really!" He yelled, throwing his hand off of his face. When he continued, his voice was soft. "Let me say this for you again, my dear. And slowly this time: I. Have. No bloody idea!!" He spat, his quiet voice rising up into the industrial rafters above. 

Sam eyed Crowley in resignation. If this was a front, it was a good one. He pulled his gaze away, thinking. Maybe... 

That was it! He'd forgotten about someone very important. His eyes flashed to Crowley, "Well, then I hope..." He moved to the chair, yanking some chains around from back to hold Crowley in place, "...You're comfortable." He hooked them tightly together, so Crowley couldn't get up, "Because you're staying here until I get some answers." He promised, heading to the reinforced door at the front of the room.

Crowley didn't bother fighting it as Sam tacked him in place--it would have been futile with that trap painted all around him. However, when Sam began to move away: "Wait!" He yelled after him, a far-from-hesitant demand in his voice. 

Sam turned edgily, "What?"

Crowley took a moment, letting his anger subside. 

Then, with a pleasant smile, "Could you be sure to bring hot towels when you're back for the massage? I do hate it when they come lukewarm."

Sam looked like he had a retort, or at least wanted to, but he ended up taking a slow, shallow breath and leaving in a huff. He slammed the door shut behind him, locking in place.

Crowley watched with a self-satisfied smile. Seconds ticked by, and all the while, he was staring at the wrong end of a locked door. 

His smile faded. He heaved out a great sigh, his lips trilling together in exasperation. "... Bollocks." 

 

Sam left the room with one overwhelming thought kicking in his brain: this wasn't at all what he planned when summoning the King of Hell. But how well did that ever work out for him anyway? At least Dean was alive, which was what he told himself with every footstep into the main reading room.

He stopped in the middle of the room, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.


	2. Dean and Castiel

In a not too far away land, Castiel felt a faint tickle in the back of his head. 

He decided to ignore it.

His main concern at the moment was putting heaven back together. His second main concern was the same concern it had been since he first arrived on earth: Dean Winchester. He thought about Dean deeply, and, as if on cue, felt a different sort of tickle in his head. So, with a few practiced stretches of his wings, he, too, closed his eyes.

In the next moment, Castiel was feeling the world shift around, finding himself immediately surrounded by the familiar sounds, smells, and sights of Dean in the driver's seat of his Impala.

Castiel sat in the passenger's seat. "Hello, Dean."

"Holy--" Dean nearly swerved, but somehow--perhaps through years of practice--he avoided it. Still, that didn't stop him from staring wide-eyed into the passenger seat for several, confused seconds. "... Cas!" He exclaimed, still reeling from his sudden appearance. He hadn't done that in... a while. "What're you doing here?" He asked, finding his very next thought to be something along the lines of ... how very coincidental it was that he'd just decided to let everyone live on without him, when one of the very people he was thinking of was now sitting beside him. Well, not people. But people. 

"I was..." Castiel took a moment, still reeling a bit from the nearly instantiations travel. He'd had this new essence for a while now, but it still didn't feel like his own. "...merely responding to your thoughts."

"My thoughts? You--" Dean interrupted himself, knowing Castiel well enough to understand that finishing that question wasn't going to end in anything even close to an answer. He sighed, continuing on another track. "Well, if you'd have read a little further, Cas, you'd know that I'm not exactly in the mood to be seeing people right now. Or... " Dean closed his mouth. It opened again with another sigh. "... Or anytime soon at all."

"I can see that." He frowned, looking around, "Where is Sam?"

"Sammy? Well, he's..." Dean had responded a little too fast. He looked out his window for a flash of a second, then he rearranged his hands on the wheel as he returned his view to the road. "... He's not coming with me on this one. He's somewhere...else. Safe."

"I see." Castiel said. Although he didn't really, "Is this about Metatron?" He asked again, "Because he's locked up in Heaven now, Dean. He can no longer hurt you. Or Sam."

Dean's eyes flicked to Castiel this time. He considered him for a moment-- Cas was still thinking the best of him. 

He couldn't let him down. He couldn't let him know what he'd become. 

"... Sam and I are in a fight." Dean lied. It would be better this way. "Now I'm taking off for a little while, getting some me time in, letting Sam ... get over himself." He sighed. "So... don't let him know where I'm at. We both just... We need some space from one another." Dean looked to Cas. "... Okay?"

Castiel seemed to consider this. Then, "I had no intention of informing Sam about your whereabouts." He confirmed, looking Dean over with more tact than an angel, but far less than a human. "I merely wished to... dispel a rumor I heard." An awkward pause, like he was trying to figure out how to pronounce a foreign phrase for the first time. "Are you okay, Dean?"

Dean picked up on the way Castiel said that. He had been implying his… death, hadn’t he? Shit. And that time, his conversational flaw was responding just a second too late. "I'm fine." He affirmed, his tone dark, maybe just a little uncertain. But he was back to showing off a fake smile in the next second. "I'm just hungry. A little tired. Maybe I'll hit a cheap diner and check in at the scuzziest motel I can find in the next hundred miles. Now doesn't that just sound like the end-all cure-all?" He forced a laugh. 

"You are not feeling any further effects from the Mark of Cain?" Castiel countered, ignoring Dean's question, rhetorical or not.

Dean blinked. There was no distracting Castiel when he was on a mission, no matter the type. "... Nope. None. It's gone radio silent for the past couple of days when things got all tough. I have no idea why. But--" he gave a tight smile. "It was about time we were in for something good for a change. So I'm not gonna question it."

Castiel continued to stare, unsure if he agreed with Dean or not. Finally, "I suppose that's true." He felt a tickle in his throat and cleared it, looking back to the road, "I am happy you did not follow through with killing Metatron. ...I do not know what sort of effect that would have had on you, or the mark." He looked back at Dean seriously. He almost looked... tired, "Perhaps... we should get rid of the first blade now. I can have it locked up in heaven, where no one will find it..."

"No." Dean shot back quickly. He gripped the steering wheel hard, head spinning for several, long moments. But soon enough, he sighed, letting his fake smile invade his expression yet again. "... Now, come on. I don't think that's necessary, Cas... If anything, this little stint with Metatron is proof enough that we have to be ready for anything at any time. If the blade is locked away..." He paused, seeming to search for words for a moment. Then, "Well... why lock up the big guns? Right?"

"It is not your ability to defend yourself that concerns me, Dean." Cas warned him. "At least... let me run some tests to make sure you are no longer being affected by the mark, like you said."

"Oh, come on. Tests aren’t necessary. Look at me! Do I look like I'm being manhandled by a first-century jaw bone?" Dean asked rhetorically. "Because no, I can tell you for certain that I'm not."

Castiel sighed inwardly, "Your physical appearance does not seem to be affected, no. But we cannot know for sure until you let me test you, or you spend time away from the first blade." He explained, "Would you rather be 'manhandled'..." He made quotes in the air, "...by a first-century jawbone or by me?"

Dean was quiet, his face blank. When he finally turned to look at Castiel with his answer, he didn't look any more certain. "... I... don't actually feel like there's a right answer to that question." And before that half of the conversation could go any further, "Oh, look," he pointed just ahead. Faded orange and green neon lights were twisted into the twenty-years-too-old cursive of a sign: Moonlight Café: 24 hour diner. "Just the place we need." He looked to Cas. "... Or me at least. I am starved." And just like that, they were pulling into the poorly-lit parking lot of a diner just off the highway. And with only two other cars in the lot, parking was simple. 

Dean shifted the car into park, pulling the key out of the ignition. The door opened with a creak. He dipped his head back down into the frame of the doorway. "You comin'?"

Castiel watched the neon lights flood over the car, looking like he vaguely wanted to strangle something. When Dean's head popped back into the car, Cas seemed to realize that he was expected to do something. Go with. Ah. Right. He got out of the car stiffly, shutting the door behind him and following Dean inside, "I am not dropping the issue, Dean." He warned.

"Right, right... Look at that. Breakfast specials after midnight." He checked a clock on the wall, then turned back to Castiel with a smile. "We're in luck."

"Hey there, boys. Two of you?"

"Uh... yeah. We'll take a booth."

"You got it. Follow me, hun." The hostess gave Dean a smile before leading them both towards a booth at the back. There was only one other person in the place, and he was seated at the bar. It wasn't the busy hour yet. 

Dean slid into the booth with a smile, picking up the menu as it was placed in front of him at the table. 

"Can I get you anything to drink right away?"

"Coffee for me, black."

"And for you?" The server asked, turning to Castiel. 

Castiel slid into the booth across from Dean, not tearing his eyes off of him, "Just water..." He said menacingly.

The waitress stopped arranging the few items in her apron pouch, looking up to stare at Castiel for a second. "... Sure. No problem. I'll be right back with that for you." She answered, shaking her head as she turned back towards the kitchen. 

Dean caught Castiel's gaze and held on as the waitress moved away. He looked a little put off. "... Cas, there's no need to scare the local wildlife." He scolded. 

Castiel blinked, looking around and wondering if he really was scary. He spotted the other person at the bar, and for the first time in a while, smelled food, coffee... He put a hand to his temple, wincing down at the table as if his head hurt. It was all a little... overwhelming.

"Hey, you okay there, Cas?" Dean asked, lowering his voice a bit. 

"Yes. I am... fine." Castiel picked his head up, blinking in the light of the diner. He noticed the waitress passing their table again and stopped her, "Excuse me, miss." He breathed, "I... didn't mean to scare you." He apologized, although he still looked a little scary. "May I also have a coffee. Please. Black."

She blinked. Then, her smile came back. "Sure thing, honey. We all get a little cranky without our caffeine." And with that, she turned over the two coffee mugs preset on the table, and poured coffee into each. "And that's fresh. Just made." She said, giving Castiel a wink before returning to the kitchen. 

Dean straightened up, following her with his eyes. He turned back to Castiel, looking perplexed. "... Did she just give you a wink?"

Castiel hadn't noticed. He was taking a sip of coffee before he realized Dean had said anything. He looked up, "Hmm?" Swallowed. Oh. He glanced at the waitress, "Hmm." Another sip.

Dean’s eyes opened wide and he shook his head. "... Jesus, you could get so much tail if you just tried." He said under his breath. Then he lifted his own coffee, sipping it quietly-- as if in defeat. 

"You boys ready to order?" The waitress was back already. 

Dean put his mug down. "Yeah. I'll have the hungry man special with an extra side of bacon, rye bread." Dean answered, then pointed to Castiel. "And he's not hungry." 

"Yes, I... already ate." Castiel sipped his coffee stealthily.

Dean looked at Castiel with an intrigued expression. 

"All right." The waitress put her pen back in her apron, ripping the top sheet off of her notepad. "I'll get that order in for you two right away. Let me know if you need anything." And with one final look at Castiel, the waitress was off. 

"... So..." Dean's eyes floated back to Cas (after another look at the waitress). "... Since... that one time... Have you gotten any more..." Dean made a slow gesture with his fist, subtlety not being the theme. "You know?" He asked, leaning in over the table. 

Cas looked at Dean's fist oddly, "If you are referring to... 'tail'..." More air quotes, "No, I have not. I am an angel now, Dean. I no longer need such human pleasures." He finished his coffee, setting the empty mug down.

Dean's eyes followed the mug. "Really?" He began, returning his gaze to Cas. "That's weird... because the last time I checked, angels don't need to maintain caffeine fixes to fluff their feathers." He looked to him with interest. "So unless the lore has changed... that seems like a pretty human pleasure to me."

Cas looked down at his coffee cup, regarding it with something like disappointment, "I... recall it tasting better before. When I was human." Although maybe it was the failing grace... "I guess I... miss it, sometimes." He observed. Then, suddenly, "Dean. Why is it called 'tail'?" He looked to him from across the table. "I understand the analogy, but from what I experienced, the 'tail' end had little to do with the actual sex." 

Dean was just about to feel some sort of moment. He was about to observe just how kind of sad it was that Castiel couldn't experience human 'pleasures,' or food at least, with half the intensity that he'd been able to experience them when he was human, and then... 

He had to go and be Cas again. 

"Uh... well. That's not always true. Sometimes, it can be literal... tail end. If she's into that. Or he. Or... but it's always near the end with the... and the..." He made some sort of gesture in the air... but it wasn't a definable one. 

"More coffee?"

"Oh, God, yes please." Dean slid his cup towards the pot. And after a second, Cas's, too. 

The waitress laughed. "Long drive, I take it?"

"You... don't know the half of it." Dean sighed. 

"Well, your order's almost up. It'll be another five minutes."

"Thank you." And with that, the waitress was making her way back to the kitchen, leaving two refreshed cups of coffee in her wake. And Dean nursed his like a caffeinated baby. "Cas..." He said, pushing his mug away from him again. "... I mean, come at me with the questions, man... but at least make sure that the cute waitress isn't in earshot when you throw one of those at me. Not the tail end..." He sipped his coffee again. "Not the tail end my ass." 

Castiel's eyes got smaller as Dean explained literal tail, as if confused, and concerned... but by the time that waitress had come and gone, he was back to nursing his coffee. No, it didn't taste the same, but it was close. And right now... Cas cleared his throat, "I thought the tail end was your ass." He questioned, looking up at Dean inscrutably.

Dean blinked, his eyes wide and his mouth filled with coffee. He swallowed. "... Okay, Cas, I'm cutting you off." Dean leaned forward, sliding Castiel's coffee mug to his own side of the table. He held up a finger. "And don't you even think about taking that back."

Castiel watched the mug scoot away, opening his mouth as if to refute Dean's claim. But, he decided against it, looking almost embarrassed instead. He wanted the coffee. But... that wasn't right. Would he become human again before his grace failed completely? He looked to Dean, almost like he wanted to say something... or ask another question...

Dean picked up on the look. "If it's anything to do with tails, I don't wanna know." He said, finally taking his hand off the mug. 

"Here you are," the waitress appeared again, and this time, with food. She set it down in front of Dean: one large plate, and two small plates with toast and bacon. 

And that shut Dean up. "All right. Thank you, miss."

"No problem. My name's Jenny, so just give me a call if you need anything else." And before she disappeared, she filled up the mugs. Again. 

Dean didn't skip a beat though. He dug right into that food, a smile on his face. 

Cas watched Dean eat like he was babysitting a small child. He sipped impatiently at his coffee, which had magically appeared in his hand by the time Dean looked back up from eating.

And when Dean did look up, he paused mid-chew. "... All right." He continued eating, speaking through his bites. "I guess I won't take the candy from the baby." He swallowed. "Nothing wrong with a little... human pleasure." He raised his forkful of food before shoving it in his mouth with a satisfied smile. 

The rest of the meal was uneventful-- silent, even, but for the occasional comment from Dean... and the chewing. And while Castiel did stare at him the entire time, by that point, Dean was very used to being watched as he ate. Especially by Castiel. It would have been weird if he hadn't watched him. But soon enough, the meal was over, and Dean was happily patting his stomach as the waitress bussed his empty plates away. Dean slipped a few dollars onto the table right next to the handwritten check, took one more swig of his coffee, and stood. "All right, Cas... now, it's time for the next human thing: sleep." He said, swatting the table lightly for emphasis. He spotted the waitress as she came back for the check. "Excuse me, Jenny. Would you mind telling us where the closest motel is?" 

She paused, the check and the money in her hand. "... Why, just keep heading east on the highway right out here, and you'll want to take exit 73 about three miles down. There's one right there, just follow the signs." 

"Much appreciated, Miss."

"Of course," she responded, looking at Cas. Then Dean again. Looking both of them over. "... You two have fun now. Be safe." She smiled, then turned away, returning to the register. 

Dean followed her with his eyes and a big smile... which soon dropped. "Uh..." He looked to Castiel. He looked back in the direction of the waitress. "N-no, he's not-- we're... not..." But Dean's stuttering was pointless. The waitress was already long gone-- impressions totally unchanged. Dean set his hand over his face, moaning quietly to himself in shame. "Ohh... come on!" He waved to Castiel with a quick motion, trotting towards the door of the restaurant to the car like a three year old having just lost a tantrum. 

Castiel didn't take it as hard. In fact, he was almost relieved, "I suppose she thought you were already getting tail." He offered, once they were outside.

"You shut up." Dean asserted, pointing at Cas over the roof of the impala right before angrily ducking down into the drivers seat. He waited silently for Castiel to follow him inside, and as soon as the passenger side door closed, Dean shifted into reverse, backing out of the parking spot before getting right back on the highway. 

Castiel didn't say a word as Dean drove off, sitting quietly in the passenger's seat. Quietly, not patiently. "Where are we going, Dean?" He asked, as if they had much more important matters to deal with than finding a place to sleep.

Dean looked to Castiel with a heavy brow. He huffed. Then a response, his voice lower and gruffer than usual. "That motel. I gotta get some sleep in, Cas. You're welcome to join! ... The whole wait staff at the Moonlight palace back there thinks you're gonna already, so why should we disappoint them?" 

Cas looked uncomfortable, "I... do not think they thought we were sleeping, Dean." He informed him, "Besides, I do not need to sleep anymore."

"I know that! I just--" Dean touched his forehead to his hand, watching the first mile marker go by. Just... two more of those. "... Just... stick with me, okay? ... And just tell me about heaven or something-- what's up with that now? Bet it's all sorts of screwed up after Metatron.”  
Castiel raised his eyebrows in consideration, "Yes, it is. All sorts of screwed up." He sighed, or least made a breath that was as close to a sigh as an angel could get, "But, heaven is in good hands now." He said, almost sadly, "The angels who took down Metatron are more than capable of undoing the wrongs he's caused, and with Hannah leading them now, I see no future problem they cannot solve." He hoped.

"Hannah?" Dean echoed, his attempt at distracting Castiel from their previous conversation turning into genuine curiosity for the new one. "That chick who was acting as your second in command back in the Castiel-valiantly-leads-the-angles time?" 

Cas nodded, "Yes, Hannah. She is already doing so well in my place." He told him, "She was the one who saw my mission through to the end, and delivered Metatron to us."

 

"Yeah... well, if you say so," Dean said, looking back to the road. Another mile marker. Any moment now... "I guess she was just doing her angel job when she tried to stop me from ganking those crazy Metatron spies on your team... If you say she's got good decision making powers, hey." Dean raised his shoulders in a shrug. "She's probably the best of the best."

Castiel looked at Dean wearily, his eyes moving over Dean's forearm covered by heavy jacket. "Dean." He looked at him, "I... hope you do not harbor any resentment towards myself, or your brother. We were only doing what we thought was right."

"Right, right. You two were doing good stuff, I know. I'm over it." And the exit they were looking for. Finally. Dean pulled off the highway, and sure enough, there was a sign for the motel. It was in sight; just off to the left. Within seconds, they were parked, and Dean was getting out of the car. "I'll be right back," he said, shutting his door. He walked off, on his way to the front office, which was just feet away. 

"I'll just... wait here, then." Castiel said to the car door. He sat there in silence, watching Dean through the windshield.

Dean didn't take long. Five minutes later, and he was ushering Castiel into one of the rooms only a few doors down from where the Impala was parked. Dean threw his luggage down in a corner as soon as he'd flung the doors open. "Geeze ... I need a shower. I smell like death," Dean complained, pulling a small bag out of his case. He stopped, turning to measure Castiel's reaction to that accidentally-too-honest comment... and decided to throw in a distraction tactic just in case. "Here!" He said, tossing the remote to Castiel. "Do me a favor and find a movie or something. Pay per view if you have to-- I really don't feel like sitting through a late night infomercial. And in the meantime, I am going to be in the shower." 

 

Castiel hadn't given Dean a strange look or anything. It actually seemed very reasonable to Castiel that the Winchesters knew what death smelled like, and occasionally stank as such. He looked more confused when Dean handed him the remote.

Television was one luxury Castiel hadn't explored much as a human. Or at least, operating the technology. He'd gained a mastery of movie and television references as of recent, but it seemed impossible that all of those colloquialisms came from that dim black box sitting in front of the bed, "Alright Dean." He muttered. Then, because it seemed like the thing to do, "Have a nice... shower." He stared at him awkwardly, then even more awkwardly looked away.

Castiel sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the remote like a human might a Rubik’s cube. He clicked it a couple times, observing the blank screen of the still turned-off television set with mild profundity.

Dean turned around. Dean heard, and Dean watched as Castiel struggled with... oh, God. His face twitched. 

"Here, Cas... Just--" Dean moved quickly to Castiel's side, taking the remote from him. He pointed it at the television, and with a click of a button, it sprang to life, the old screen taking about five seconds to warm up. "And you use these buttons to change the channel," he pointed them out. "And these to turn up the volume, and this..." He pressed another button, a menu popping up on the screen filled with movies, both free and for a small fee. "That's the pay per view menu. Just... Use the arrows and pick one of these. It'll list the description off to the side... See? They'll be better than what's on TV..." He said, flipping the remote back to Cas. "If you get confused, just call for me." He said, pointing at Castiel distinctly. 

Castiel looked from the screen to the buttons, following Dean's explanation. Although, when Dean finished, Castiel already looked like he had a question. He opened his mouth, but then closed it without a word and began clicking through the pay-per-view selections.

Dean smiled, nodding at Castiel. "That's it. You'll get it," Dean said, walking into the bathroom. "I'll be just a few minutes!" He said, closing the door behind him. 

And just a few moments later, the shower was on and warm, and Dean was getting under the stream of water -- the water pressure was surprisingly good for a little motel in the middle of nowhere. He closed his eyes, letting the water just rinse over him for a moment... It was nice. Something little, but something that could placate him. Keep him distracted from his problem at hand. He sighed, picking up the provided soap and beginning a lather between his hands. 

The soap didn't get far. After just a few sweet moments of silence...  
"Dean..."

Dean stopped, looking up at the voice just audible beyond the fall of the water. "... Cas?" He called back, loud enough to be heard. "Everything okay out there?" 

Another few moments of silence.

"...Never mind."  
...

"I found it."

Dean's brow lowered. Somehow... that didn't make him feel better. But he also wasn't about to step out of his shower at that. "... Kay," Dean called back, shaking his head and getting back to the soap. After he'd finished his lather and a quick shave, he realized he'd forgotten his shampoo out by the bathroom sink. He pulled the curtain aside, trying to reach it... but it was just a finger width away. With a sigh, he pushed the curtain aside, getting out to grab it and pull it in. 

"...Dean..."

Dean picked his head up, a confounded look on his face. "Cas... What is it?" He called back, swinging his arm with his shampoo in hand. 

"Do you require assistance?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, Cas, I don't need help--" just as Dean finished his statement, he caught a glimpse of himself in the foggy mirror. He stepped forward, wiping away the steam so he could see it clearly: his eyes were black. 

... Forget Cas's badgering, that was the way to ruin a good shower. He sighed, staring at his reflection for several moments. He gripped his shampoo. "... Dammit." He cursed under his breath. 

"I can't hear you..."

Again, Dean's eyes rolled up at that. He blinked, snapping his eyes back to normal. The door creaked open. "I said, I don't need help!" He asserted, hanging just his head outside of the bathroom. "Now do you?" 

Castiel looked over at him, unmoved from his spot at the edge of the bed. He looked... confused. "No. Why?"

Dean's eyes closed, releasing a sigh through thin lips. "... No reason, Cas. No reason..." And with that, Dean was closing the door again, returning to the humidity of the bathroom. Only, he didn't return to the shower immediately. Instead, he stood right by the door. 

This whole... demon thing. Even if he was away from Sam, it could still be bad. He was a demon. After all. Maybe he didn't feel it yet, but eventually, it would get him. And he'd... he could hurt people. 

... Maybe he needed someone to be there... just in case. 

Dean sighed. "... Hey, Cas," he said, opening the door again and dipping his head out. "You don't have anything going on for a while, right?"

Castiel's gaze moved to Dean again. That was an odd question. Did Dean know something? No, how could he? Castiel just didn't want to admit the answer. "No, I don't." He mumbled, forgetting all about the television. "Why?"

Dean sighed inwardly in relief. "Oh... All right, cool," he shrugged it off, trying not to appear as relieved and nervous as he was. "You should hang with me for a while. We can hunt together." He smiled. "Sound like a plan?" 

Castiel's expression didn't change. Finally, his raised his eyebrows in a silent sigh, staring off into the distance. "...I suppose...I could accompany you..."

"... Good, good that's..." Dean nodded, still trying to come off as cool, relaxing a little near the doorway. 

Castiel looked at Dean oddly.

"... That's great.." Dean continued, nearly closing the door. But he popped his head back out just enough to meet Cas's eyes. "Gonna... finish my shower now." He pointed towards the shower, still running in the background. 

Castiel was still looking at him oddly. 

After another moment, Dean disappeared back into the bathroom. 

Staring into the door, Castiel finally turned away after he heard curtain close. He wasn't watching the television anymore, though. He sighed.

Castiel wanted to make sure Dean was detoxing from the blade, but he wasn't convinced. Luckily, Dean wanted him to stay. But, truthfully, Castiel hadn't known what he was going to do after checking in on him. That was his last stop. Maybe he wanted to stay with Dean, too.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door was opening, and Dean was stepping out, towel wrapped around his waist and rubbing a hand towel through his hair. "All right... what do we have on TV?" He asked, a smile on his face as he dropped the hand towel around his shoulders. He was seemingly back to himself. 

It took Castiel a few seconds to look away. But once he did, he glanced a double take. "Um." He stared at Dean seriously. On television, there was a documentary on monkeys, accompanied by a soothing foreign male's voice describing, in excruciating detail, the monkeys throwing their feces at one another.

Dean's eyes jumped to the television. His smile fell. 

"... Oh, no, we are not watching this," he asserted, quickly covering the distance between them and snatching the remote away from Castiel's reach. He sat down next to him on the bed, bringing up the movie menu, sifting through a few of them, before decisively clicking one from the free menu: Iron Man. "That's much better." He sighed, tossing the remote back on the side table. He turned to Castiel, scolding. "No more TV decisions from you until you develop some taste. Got it?”

Castiel observed Dean's choice inscrutably, "Angels can perceive more tastes than humans, Dean." He watched the movie, voicing no further complaints.

Dean opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He closed his mouth to a pucker, looking off at the wall. Slapping his knees, he got up. "You know what? You can have that one." He patted Castiel on the shoulder. "Angels have more taste buds. Awesome." And with that, Dean was kneeling down and grabbing a few pieces of clothing from his bag, heading back towards the bathroom. 

Castiel seemed unmoved by Dean's proclamation. His head turned when Dean headed back towards the bathroom, however. "Where are you going?" He asked quizzically.

Dean stopped walking. He turned on his heel. "I'm changing, Cas. Gonna throw on some clothes." He threw his thumb over his shoulder with a smile, pointing at the bathroom with an amused bob of his head. "You want in on this?" 

Somehow, Castiel looked even more confused. "No, I... do not have other clothes to change into." He eyed him suspiciously, "I do not think we would both fit in yours."

Dean's brows jumped up with forced amusement. "... Right." He said, turning back towards the bathroom. "Right." The bathroom door closed. 

Castiel stared through the door, then after a moment, moved that confused look back to the television.

A few moments later, and Dean was out of the bathroom, gray boxer shorts and a dark undershirt on in the place of the towel. "All right, back to the movie." He said, hopping into the bed Castiel wasn't occupying. He burrowed in under the blankets, settled in.

Then realized he'd forgotten about the lights. Damn.

".... Cas," he called, looking over at him. "Can you turn off the lights? I can't sleep like this." 

Castiel blinked. Oh, the lights. He'd gotten distracted again. He reached over to the wall beside his bed, flicking them off manually, leaving both of them glowing in the light of the television as a metallic superhero flew across the screen. Castiel settled back stiffly against the pillows, "Goodnight, Dean."

Dean settled back a little more as the lights flicked off. "Goodnight, Cas--" Dean looked to Castiel. Castiel, still fully clothed, was laying down on top of the motel blankets like he had a stick up his ass. All right. A little weird, but at least he wasn't standing in a corner or something. 

Sighing, Dean decided it best to close his eyes and try to drift off. The occasional, soft rattling sounds playing from the movie’s audio track were kind of hypnotizing. Those alone could help him drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we'll be back to Sam and Crowley. It should be edited and up in the coming week!
> 
> For those of you following, have no worries. Smut is on the horizon.


	3. Sam and Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets a hold of Dean... but then Crowley gets a hold of Sam.

Sam blinked furiously. Of all the times for Castiel to ignore him, this was by far the worst. Fine. If Castiel wouldn't help, Sam would do this on his own. Castiel had better be getting laid or something.

The door across from Crowley swung open. Sam looked mutinous.

"Hello, Darling. Welcome home," Crowley piped up, looking as calm as ever strapped down to that chair. "I was planning to make you a nice dinner..." He raised his hands, his movement stopping immediately as the restraints around his wrists snapped tight. "... but my hands are a little tied."

Sam's glare snapped to Crowley, breathing heavily through his nostrils. He stalked over to him, entering the Devil’s Trap, and stopped right in front of the chair. Then… he removed the chains.

He left Crowley in his handcuffs, standing over him threateningly, "You're going to help me find my brother." He muttered, "And in exchange, I won't leave you here for Hell to freeze over."

Crowley's brow raised, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Wonderful. A cross-country road trip with a delightfully mis-matched duo and a plethora of quirky adventures?" He stood, staring up at Sam with a twitch of annoyance. "Just what I was hoping to do with my evening. The usual Sunday plans are dreadful... You think Bingo on earth is bad, try it in Hell."

Sam's expression hardened, tilting his head in annoyance, "I don't have time for games, Crowley. Are you going to help me find Dean or not?"

"Second verse same as the first, then... if it's not one Winchester, then it's the other." He muttered. But soon enough, he was shrugging. "All right, then. In this special episode, Boris will help Moose find Squirrel. But as soon as I do," he lifted his hands, the cuffs clinking. "Then it's off with these. I really don't feel they match the intensity of my eyes."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Fine." He agreed. Then, reluctantly, "What do you need?"

"Well, before we rule out the obvious. Why don't I try …cell phone?" He turned his side to Sam. "Won't you fish it out for me? It's in the front coat pocket."

Sam eyed him hesitantly, then, with a sigh, stepped closer. He reached into Crowley's pocket, "I already tried calling him." He muttered.

"Right. But I didn't," he corrected. Then, he jumped slightly. "Oo... slow down, tiger. We haven’t even had that dinner you promised me yet."

Sam glared at him shortly, then continued to feel for Crowley's phone. Once he found it, he slapped it in Crowley's hand and folded his arms, watching him make the call.

Crowley proceeded to look through his contact list. His eyes jumped up to Sam. "... No privacy? Well, aren't you a regular voyeur." He clicked the button, bringing the phone up to his ear with both hands, the cuffs forcing him to. "I'll keep that in mind."

Sam huffed sarcastically, not moving from his spot, and not just to keep an eye on Crowley. He was almost morbidly curious as to what would happen if Crowley called. Surely just another stupid voicemail. If Sam had left any room in his brother's mailbox that is.

A moment ticked by. Then, "Dean. How are you?" Crowley spoke into the phone, his smile smug. "Listen. I know it's the middle of the night, but I'm here with your little brother Sam... and he's very worried about you. So worried, in fact, that believe it or not he's got me in handcuffs. Tragic, really..." 

Sam's mouth opened in shock, his voice caught in his throat. He grabbed the phone out of Crowley's hands, "D...Dean!" He stammered.

But before another voice could be heard on the other line at all, Crowley snatched the phone back. "Now, Sam... Play nice!" He muttered, shaking his head. "Sorry about that. That boy is very shaken up... Look," he moved away from Sam, still stuck within the confines of the trap on the floor. "Tell me where you went, I can let Sam know, he'll let me free and we'll all be on our merry way." There was a pause, and Crowley stopped where he was. He turned around on his heel, looking a little more irritated. "... Fine, don't tell me. You want to be left alone, I get it. But at least ..." He brought the phone away from his ear again, putting it on speaker. "... tell your brother that you're all right and that you don't want to be bothered."

The other end was quiet. Though after a few moments, there was the sound of a breath. "... Sam," it began, Dean's voice undeniably on the other line. "... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for... leaving like I did, but..." Another pause. Like he was really considering his words. "... I just need some time."

Sam’s eyes fell to the phone as soon as it switched to speaker. His breathing went shallow.

Dean... Was that... really him?

"Dean." Sam's voice shook, his throat dry, "Where. Are you?"

"... Sam--" Dean's voice came to a stop. He breathed. "... I--what we... went through... I just need more time, okay? I need some..." Another pause. "Cas is here with me, okay? He's looking out for me. I'll be fine. Right after... I have a break."

Sam's head was spinning, "Dean, I..." He swiped a hand through his hair, blinking hard, "How..." He looked around desperately, eyes watering, "How are you alive?" He finally asked, a desperation in his voice he couldn't hide.

Dean seemed to think on that one. The sound of sheets shifting could be heard through the speaker of the phone. Finally, he uttered one word. "... Crowley."

Crowley smiled, his brow lifting in an expression that practically screamed 'I told you so.'

Sam's expression looked more like murder. He had to take a breath to be able to speak again, closing his eyes to get away from Crowley. Suddenly it made sense. Whatever Crowley did to him came at a price, a price he was hiding from Sam. Sam wasn't a fool. He knew how resurrections worked. The only thing he could muster to ask his brother was, "Are you okay?" He opened his eyes. He'd have to give Dean his space until he was ready. That murderous glare was pinned to Crowley, however, as if whatever Dean said next was going to determine how long Sam was going to draw Crowley's murder out.

"... Yeah, Sammy." Dean responded. Although it sounded like he was forcing it. "I'm okay."

Crowley's smile didn't subside in the least. With a sly click of a button, the phone was taken off speaker. Crowley held it back up to his ear. "That's good to hear, Dean. I'll let you and birdman be, then. I'm sure little Sammy's curiosity is sated enough for now... Sweet dreams.” And with that, Crowley hung up. Coolly, he dropped the phone back into his pocket. "Satisfied?" He asked, his voice a pleasant growl. 

Sam's eyes snapped back to Crowley. He sniffed, eyes red and teary, mutinous... Dean was alive. He couldn't believe it. Whatever price he paid, Dean had been so ashamed of it that he'd run away.

All right. 

Sam would give him all the time and space he needed. He knew how that went. At least whatever was wrong with him, it wasn't so bad that he had to run from Castiel, too. 

Because, in the meantime... Sam had Crowley.

Sam smiled. It was a red eyed, relieved, murderous smile. He wiped his eyes, stalking towards Crowley.

"Hmm... well, don't we look just like the cat that caught the mouse?" Crowley observed, standing his ground inside of the trap, hands coolly in his pockets as he watched Sam approach. "Have something to unload? Or are we just having a Winchester mood swing?”

Sam didn't flinch. He towered over Crowley, breathing precise. And in an instant, he had a hand clamped down on Crowley's shoulder. He shoved Crowley back down onto the chair, hoping that it hurt. "Well, you brought my brother back." He muttered, "I'll give you that. But you didn't find out where he is." Sam trapped him, lowering himself to Crowley's eye level, "So now I'm going to find out what you did to bring him back... even if it takes all night." He breathed.

Crowley’s expression didn't even twitch. "Oh, Sam... You're such a tease." He scoffed playfully, his voice gravel. 

Sam slapped him. The sound echoed off bare, cement walls. He grabbed his shoulder again, digging into the collarbone. "What did you do to him?"

Crowley's head turned at the slap, and he kept it there for a moment. He raised his hands, the cuffs rattling, touching the sting against his cheek. When he looked back at Sam, he sounded pleased. "Oh. I stand corrected."

Sam sucked in a breath, visibly shaking. This time, there was no slap. He gripped the arms of the chair, staring Crowley in the eye, then he flipped it. It threw Crowley to the ground with a shattering clang of metal hitting concrete. And before he could even move, Sam was kneeling over him, gripping the front of his suit and shoving him down, "What was it? What did you do to bring him back?" He shouted.

Crowley smiled. Again. And what's more, he laughed. He laughed and laughed. "You think this is going to intimidate me? Your Ken doll Kung Fu grip? Sam, please..." He shook his head. "I spend the majority of my time in Hell. After my demonic rebirth, your cruelest torture is no worse than petting a kitten and then experiencing a mild allergic reaction.”

Without a moment's hesitation, Sam was landing a punch to Crowley's face. He knew Crowley was right. There was no way to physically torture this man, but Sam needed an outlet. He dragged him back, holding him in place to punch him again.

"Oh, Sam...” Crowley interrupted mid-beating, still laughing. “…you're so fit." 

Sam practically roared with the next punch, splattering blood onto the concrete beside them. He straddled Crowley to keep from having to pull him again, and landed punch after punch, not sure how many he'd hit until he finally had to stop, panting, eyes burning.

Crowley's face certainly showed the damage: a cut cheekbone, a swollen lip, bruises, and an eye coloring to spare. "... Wow," Crowley said, his voice more gravelly than usual. He turned his head to the side, spitting out a mouthful of blood. When he returned his gaze, it was heavy. "... You must be very pent-up, my friend... And after that display, hmm… I can't say you're the only one." He made an amused noise in his throat. "You really know how to turn a girl on..."

Sam stared at Crowley in exasperation. He was so fed up with Crowley's bullshit, and the helplessness from his brother's death was washing over him all over again. He was almost ashamed. And worst of all, Crowley wasn't entirely wrong. He felt like a power keg, constantly sparking and dying, not knowing when he'd finally explode, "You're sick..." Was he all he could manage to gasp out. He shifted his weight, kneeling over Crowley and rubbing his face with one hand. When he removed it, he looked broken, angry. "You’re… twisted..."

Crowley raised a brow. "I'm not the one currently straddling the King of Hell to achieve some sort of ...emotional release." He countered. 

It went silent. 

Crowley seemed to consider for a few moments, observing Sam, looking him over. Then: "After I brought Dean back, you know, I didn't get the typical crossroad kiss I'd grown so used to after performing demonic miracles... You know. Like the old days." He raised his brow, entirely casual. "Want to step in for him? ... Maybe it will help you achieve that... release you've so been looking for. Hm?"  
Sam's eyebrows came together, appalled. He blinked furiously, getting up onto his knees, "That's... that's just..." He took a deep breath, voice lowering, "The only release I need is finding my brother safe."

"Now, Sam... you know that's not true." Crowley said. "A man has... needs. It's been a while. Hasn't it?" The gears in his head turning, the chains on his wrists clinking, Crowley's hands moved to Sam's knee. "There's no use denying it." His fingers clamped over the joint there.

Sam glared heavily at Crowley, but at that contact, lost his breath. He tried to move back, almost reflexively, but Crowley's heavy grip made it look more like a twitch. "You don't know what you're talking about," he shot back. Was Crowley... was the King of Hell really suggesting that they... "I like women." He almost laughed. This situation was so ridiculous. What did he have to prove to Crowley, anyway? He made to get up.

But Crowley's grip on Sam doubled. "Sam, it doesn't matter what you like." Crowley added, his grip getting strong enough to leave bruises on even the toughest of skin. "We don't always get to choose when it comes to matters of the heart... or body. Why not just submit?" A smile, his voice like poison silk. "... Let me take care of you." 

Sam gritted his teeth as Crowley gripped harder, his muscles going tense. Not tense with pain, but fear. Crowley was getting to him. He gaped silently, in shock, gaze heavy, "I... I have to find my brother." He muttered, trembling with determination -- his greatest defense. He had to get away from Crowley. Now.

"And you will... but don't think about that now. Not tonight. You heard him, Sam." Crowley slowly rose to his knees, moving closer. 

Sam almost fell on his ass, but somehow he managed to stay up, tilting back and away from Crowley.

"Dean is safe,” Crowley cooed, continuing. “So take a load off. Think about yourself for five minutes... or for all night. Hm. Depends how much stamina you have built up in that giant body of yours. Or if it’s all for show." 

The way Crowley was leaning in, the way he was speaking to Sam, it made his skin crawl. Or something. And he needed to think, and the closer Crowley got, the harder it was…

To think, that is. 

Dammit. He tore his gaze away, chest heaving with every breath, glaring at the floor. Sam didn't need things like other people. He was a Winchester. He needed his brother to be okay. He needed to save people. He needed... 

Sam's glare shifted threateningly to Crowley, holding his ground so hard it ached. Or maybe that was Crowley's hand.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" Crowley growled, still leaning closer, not letting Sam put any distance between them. "Having a hard time deciding? Hm... Here," With a quick movement, Crowley was letting his grip on Sam go. But quickly, in its place, he swung his arms over Sam's neck, holding him at his upper back, using the cuffs to his advantage. As a trap. 

Sam’s eyes flew open when Crowley threw the cuffs over his head. He immediately made a grab for the chain, all that energy finally kicked into action, but he found himself almost falling over with the shift in equilibrium. He landed against Crowley instead. Sam tried to thrash, but Crowley tugged him in tight. 

"Let me help you, Sam..." Crowley purred, his voice quieter as it tickled over Sam's lips. And, soon, it was more than sound, but a kiss, forced, but completely purposeful in its execution. Pushing in mercilessly against Sam’s lips still trembling with rage.

Sam buzzed a surprised, muffled sound through the kiss, finally falling on his ass. With Crowley between his legs, he was unable to get up, or get Crowley off of him. And every struggle just made that kiss press against him more.

"Mmm..." Crowley buzzed amusedly against Sam's lips, pinning him to the hard, cool floor of that Devil's Trap. “Don't fight it, Sam... Just let yourself enjoy it," He whispered, letting the words buzz from lip to lip. Those buzzes made Sam’s head go static, electrifying jolts snapping through him that made him want to fight, although not necessarily stop. Crowley opened the kiss, intensifying it, sucking Sam's bottom lip, and Sam breathed hard against him, the sound surprised and breathless. It wasn’t long at all before Crowley dove into his mouth, tasting him, growling lightly against him. 

Sam's whole body writhed, trying to throw him off. But that growl made his muscles tremble and shake, and suddenly he wasn't sure if he was trying to throw him off or not. He felt... electrocuted. He couldn't release his grip, or the kiss.

Crowley felt the attempted thrash, the one, honest, attempted get away he'd felt from Sam, and his response was immediate.

He jabbed his knee in against Sam's thigh, pinning his leg hard, slamming his chest against Sam's in a way that could force the breath out of a titan. "Enjoy it, Sam, while I'm still letting you." Crowley warned, his breath toxic. And before he returned to that kiss, Sam gasped, leaving himself wide open for a bite to his lip. It was hard, forceful, taking every bit from Sam as Crowley wanted.

Sam groaned, loud, somewhere between pain and something he couldn’t admit. But he didn’t need to. In a moment, Crowley was grinding into Sam's hip the beginnings of an excitement that was to come in an action that was both threat, and promise. And Sam’s body was doing all the talking for him, responding to that grinding, that kiss, the blood from the bite slowly leaking into his mouth. Taking all of Crowley’s force and wanting more… He sure was a Winchester, alright. 

Crowley growled low in his throat, sucking at the taste of Sam’s blood into his mouth. Sam kept breathing harder and harder with each one of Crowley's forceful plunges, every grind of his hips, until he was gripping Crowley's arms tight, feet pinned to the floor, and caving to Crowley's show of dominance. He couldn't keep up. He was too tired, too lost, too worked up. 

And it had been so long... Sam groaned in helpless frustration... in need...

A wide, dark grin pulled at Crowley's lips, smiling out of the kiss. But not for long. Immediately, he pressed his lips down to Sam's neck, biting into the sensitive skin there. Then he did it again, trailing it lower. And again, pinning his knee hard into Sam's inner thigh, forcing them further apart with the motion. Sam’s body responded to Crowley’s force – pushing his leg aside, hoisting him up – it was stubborn, but it followed. And quickly after that, Crowley was clamping teeth down on the collar of Sam's shirt, and with one, decisive rip, he popped the shirt open, buttons snapping off. Sam made a sharp sound. With that single motion, he'd ripped the shirt open down to the last button, still stubbornly holding at its bottom. Crowley ignored it, pulling up hard with his handcuffs at Sam's back as he hefted up the ridiculous, v-neck undershirt with his teeth. And with that motion, bringing the shirt up to rest around his collarbone, he'd finally revealed Sam's skin. His breath was hot against it there as, curiously, he licked over its tanned surface, nipping over his chest. Amused. Teasing. 

Sam gasped in surprise. Somehow, he hadn't connected the fact that Crowley was stripping him.

Sam couldn't move with Crowley pinning his leg with his knee. And the rest of him was pinned by that tongue. Sam could feel it everywhere, the occasional nip making him startle and suck in a breath through his nose, "Crowley..." He muttered, eyes wide and lips tight. That tongue was making his body shake and his mind go foggy. He couldn't stand it.

"Hmmm ...Samm..." Crowley purred back, still nipping along Sam's skin, letting the two names mingle in the air as sweetly as they'd been uttered. Sam was going crazy. He grunted, muscles tensing up with those nips and melting with that tongue. And soon, Crowley had found a more sensitive spot on Sam's chest. With a curious stare up at Sam's face, Crowley dragged his teeth over Sam's right nipple. Sam exclaimed. Crowley’s humid breath ghosted down over him there as he circled it once with his tongue. Then again... He nipped down sharply, pulling with his teeth. He added to the assault another press of his hips into Sam-- this time, a grind-- sharp, and aimed not over Sam's hip, but between his legs. 

Sam’s sounds melted into a groan when Crowley moved like that between his legs, chest rising and falling. He could feel Crowley... he could feel …Crowley, "Shit..." He grumbled, head falling back, feeling himself getting hard, fast, his whole body on edge feeling that tongue. There was something in Sam's tone that spoke volumes of his current state. Crowley had him. 

Crowley abandoned Sam's chest, instead nipping, biting and licking down Sam's stomach, pulling his hands lower. He reached the place where that final button was, and he snapped it off with a quick bite, throwing Sam's shirt side aside. Then... there were those pants, a form within them greeting Crowley. He looked up to Sam's expression, reading him, as with a slow, firm bite at the top corner of the denim material of Sam's belt line, Crowley snapped open the button there. And as he continued, pulling at the zipper of Sam's pants, one inch at a time, he made certain to breathe a little more noticeably than he ever needed to. As soon as those pants were unfastened, the very moment, he snapped his hands down on the other side of Sam, working the chain of the cuffs under his pants, his underwear. 

“Hey, Wha…” Sam looked down at Crowley, beginning to pull out of his haze. Crowley was gripping the waistline of both articles at his sides firmly, then he pulled down in a strong, single movement, removing them past the curve of his backside and mid-way down his thighs. Sam stared in shock as Crowley exposed him to the room.

"...Oh. Hello, Moose." A quirk of a smile played up at Sam as the demon stared at naked flesh. At naked, partially-aroused, impressively large flesh. Then Crowley was sliding down Sam's body, snapping those pieces of clothing all the way down to his ankles, quickly over his feet, and the chain of the cuffs was finally free and rattling again as he discarded the clothing. "Care to enjoy your welcoming present?" He added at last, his voice a pleasant grumble. Swiftly, he pinned Sam with his legs again, crawling up his body. In that moment, the hunger within Sam won out over the embarrassment. The feeling of the cool metal sliding up his thighs, that heated gaze trapping his own. Sam stared wide-eyed back at Crowley, not backing down. Until… 

Crowley lowered his hands, catching Sam's eye. And with a solid movement, he gripped both hands over Sam's length. Somehow, Sam held back a groan, but it slipped out as Crowley pulled firmly up from its base, savoring his heat, and firmly, twisted over its head. "You... are a very big boy, Sam." Crowley hissed, voice dripping with promise. 

Sam's legs trembled, hardening uncontrollably at those hands, that hiss... Sam exhaled, trying to keep himself together. "Shut up." That gravely voice, it was like he was talking directly to Sam's length. 

"You say one thing, and yet..." Crowley stroked down Sam's length, then pulled up again, twisting hard at the top. Sam took a breath, but Crowley’s hand took It right back. "Hmm let's let our bodies do the talking, shall we?" Crowley rumbled, dipping his head down near Sam's length. The ghost of his breath flitted over the tip of him. And soon, it was breath and saliva. Crowley spat on Sam, immediately slipping his hand over it, spreading it over him, massaging it firmly into his hot skin. Solidly gripping him, he twisted up, every stroke getting faster and faster. 

Sam's eyes fluttered, so he shut them tight, taking uneven breaths as Crowley stroked him too perfectly. That firm, quickening pace had Sam completely hard, body throbbing. He bit back a moan but it tumbled out anyway, "...Shit." He breathed, tilting his head back.

"Mmm..." Crowley hummed amusedly, his lips still close enough to draw the breath of it against Sam's length. That fast pace continued, stroking up and down, spitting over him, again and again, more and more, and Sam’s breath was getting heaver and heavier… And then Crowley's hands slowed. The pace had turned so suddenly and sharply slow that it nearly seemed as if Crowley had stopped. 

No. Shit… 

Slowly, achingly, Crowley twisted a firm, nearly painful amount of pressure from base... to tip. Rocking Sam's erection as the chain of the cuffs clinked softly. 

Sam outright moaned as Crowley pulled him like that, feeling it throughout his whole body, that hard, agonizing attention pushing him on his back, "Sh... Crowley...!" He gasped harshly, a desperation there that meant anything but 'stop.’

Then the pace was quick again. As Crowley drew that quick attention out, Sam’s breath caught, making a gasp of a sound. Those strokes felt stronger every time, stirring him up deeper and deeper. Crowley dipped in close, his breath casting over Sam again, hot. Then, he sniffed quietly. Sam perked up, desperate, groaning breathlessly, fists clenching over concrete. 

Crowley kneeled hard into Sam's thigh and spread those legs forcefully as he continued to move. And Sam winced, not because it hurt, but because with his legs forced apart, the ache from his length spread deeper. It was throbbing now, leaking. Sam panted, unable to move his hips but wanting to. His muscles shook with it, with need.

Crowley, very observant of Sam's state, adjusted accordingly: he amped it up even more for just a moment, adding in an extra twist... 

Then it dropped off again. Sam let out a desperate sound. Crowley pulled a slow, aching crawl of strokes over him, twisting firmly over his head. Sam's mind was spinning, drowning, lagging... he'd never felt so disorientated during a hand job, so keyed up and wound up, like a toy, and he knew it was Crowley. He was doing this on purpose, but... it was working. Sam couldn't think. He could feel the pull of Crowley's hand, the wet warmth of his saliva, the cool metal slinking between his legs... Crowley's finger... what? Where was it going? He wouldn't...? Sam couldn't do that. 

As the chain linking Crowley’s hands clinked cheerily, his finger slipped around, searching. He stroked against Sam's entrance, not breaching, just letting him know he was there, linking every individual pulse with a pull over Sam's length.

God that felt good. Relaxing, even. Comforting. Sam couldn't think again. That felt really, really... Shit, no. "Crow...Crowley..." Sam panted hazily between slow stokes, trying to grab his attention. 

Then, Crowley stopped. Sam lifted his head, staring at Crowley, panting hard. Crowley’s fingers were soon sliding low, clamping hard around the base of Sam's length and balls, holding tight enough to mimic a cock ring, making it impossible to come. And finally, the finger that had just been pulsing at Sam's entrance before, it pushed inside of Sam slowly, curling up into his inner walls. 

Sam exclaimed, his free leg scraping on the floor. “What… what are you doing?” He whined, feeling Crowley inside of him. 

Crowley pulled back out in response… but only to push in again. The sensation sent jolts up Sam with every press in and out, Crowley’s hand around his length trapping him, stimulating him. Then suddenly, Crowley’s finger hit a spot that sent a bolt of lightening through him. 

Sam shouted, tossing his head back on the floor, "Sh...shit! Crowley!" He gasped. Crowley slipped his finger over it, stimulating it with every push and pull past it. "Mmmn...!" Sam groaned through his lips, length straining in Crowley's grip, his back arching.

"That's it... just let go, Moose..." Crowley cooed, his syllables rumbling from him. "Relax..." His motions became a little more firm, pressing into that spot inside of Sam instead of just passing by, kneading against it in a motion that said come hither as much as it said enjoy. And Sam moaned, that motion laying him flat on the floor, unable to move. Crowley pulsed his grip over Sam's cock, making it even tighter. And in the meantime, every pulse into Sam ended in a knead against that spot. 

Sam gaped silently, breath gone, hips shaking. He mouthed Crowley’s name, feeling like he could come if he would just let go. What was he doing to him? All he was able to vocalize was a small whine, muscles melting around Crowley's finger with the motions.

"There you are..." Crowley rumbled, continuing his motions. "Good Moose." 

Sam wanted to frown at that praise, to resent it, but it snaked into him in just the right way, making his length throb. Crowley slowly slipped his finger out of Sam, and after a second that he used to drop a little more saliva on his digits, Crowley re-entered. This time, with two fingers. Sam gave a pent up shout, arching on the concrete. “Shit… shit!” He begged, but then Crowley was kneading him again, and, oh... that was good. That was so, so good... Sam moaned, fists clenching in his own hair as his body wanted nothing more than to sink down on those fingers, hips tipped forward and trembling with the need to move. It was overwhelming. 

This wasn't normal sex. This was fucked up. Crowley was keeping him from coming, wasn't he? Sam's head spun, and he moaned in his grip, a sound that could only be interpreted as ‘more.’

So… with one final, powerful knead, Crowley was slipping his fingers easily out of Sam. He stared down at him with a grin. But before he spoke, he let long, grueling seconds tick by. Sam panted when Crowley stopped, waiting for the slow pace to kick in. He couldn’t take it. And when it didn’t come, he looked down at Crowley desperately.

Finally, he spoke up. "... You'd like more, wouldn't you?" He purred coolly. "Maybe you'd like to come?" He leaned down, keeping his hold around Sam's cock tight. "Well? ... Would you like to ask me something?"

Sam groaned in his throat, his head dropping back down in frustration, "Let..." He panted, "Let me come." He breathed. 

Moments passed, the same smug look kept on Crowley's face. Lightly, he traced those two fingers back over Sam's entrance, otherwise unmoving. "... Please?" He growled expectantly, waiting for Sam to repeat it. 

Sam, who was still struggling to keep his head above the water, muscles and length straining, sputtered, "Go to Hell," almost reflexively, too much blood abandoning his brain to take note of the irony.

Crowley's brows raised coolly. "Huh... As much as I do miss my comfy couch, I do rather think we have something here to finish first." He twisted his grapple around the base of Sam's length, slipping his free hand away from his entrance to give a squeeze to his balls instead. "...If you only had some manners, that is."

Sam groaned, clawing the concrete as his body went into overdrive, "Please...!" He whined.

"There." Crowley beamed. "Now, that wasn't so hard. Was it?" 

Right after the commentary had left his lips, Crowley was slipping those two fingers of his back into Sam in a quick jab, immediately massaging the lump of his prostate. Sam shuddered and tipped back against the floor, muscles tightening and melting all over again. But more than that, the grapple around the base of Sam's shaft and balls was removed, freeing him. That hand moved instead to stroking Sam, pulling firmly at his arousal from base to tip, twisting at the head where he dropped a dollop of saliva from his tongue. Immediately, his pace began to pick up--but his path, base to tip, his twisting, his firm grip, those didn't change in the slightest. 

Sam felt all the currents Crowley had been sparking and pouring in him rush his length and balls. He moaned shamelessly as Crowley linked the pace of the two stimulations, each getting quicker by the moment. His fingers inside of Sam pressing down as they worked into him, into that spot, opening him a little more fully, mimicking the entrance of something bigger... just as Crowley settled a firm, inquisitive bulge at Sam's inner thigh. Just reminding him that it was there. 

Sam’s legs spread, wanting nothing more than that heat, that hand wrapped around his dick... Shit. Crowley was going to finger him right back down to Hell.

The sounds echoing in the empty concrete of the room were positively lewd. Crowley breathed out, rutting a little more noticeably into the skin of Sam's thigh. "That's it, Sam..." Crowley encouraged. "You're close... there's no use hiding it. So just... let go..." Crowley's voice was still cool, collected. A purr of heat and gravel. "Let go..." An especially firm twist and pull, and a merciless jab inside of him. 

Sam's moans were climbing. Those twists and jabs had him reeling on the floor, body heaving with pleasure. It ripped through him like nothing he'd ever experienced with another person... or demon. He couldn't take it, and yet he needed more. So much more. Back arched, expression screwed up, eyes closed... he didn't even care about that foreign object rutting against his thigh. He needed that, too.

Finally, it was Crowley's growls and purrs that undid him, mingled with that sudden, firm motion inside that tore him apart - Sam was done. He seized up, coming and shouting out his pleasure until he was hoarse, reduced to a panting, limp mess of a hunter, just telling himself it wasn't Crowley's voice that pushed him over, or that thing on his thigh... No. Fuck... 

He whined. It felt so good... he dropped his head back on the floor, practically whimpering in relief.

After Sam's moans and whimpers--all of those devastating sounds he was making--had stopped echoing around them, leaving only the hollow sound of breathing in the cold, concrete room, Crowley pulled his hand up over Sam's length just one more time and milked out the very last drop of his release. 

He let Sam's length flop down to his stomach. "My, my... You, my dear Moose... are a messy boy." He mumbled, very slowly slipping his fingers out of Sam. Just before they pulled out of him, Crowley curled them slightly, putting just a little more pressure than was necessary on the entrance to Sam's body. They slid out with a pop. 

Crowley stood, unpinning Sam and casually making his way back to the chair in the center of the trap. He took a seat, letting his eyes wander over Sam's exposed body, settling his head on his hand.

"... It might be best to take a shower before settling in for the night.” Crowley cooed, raising his brows. “If you'd like, I'd be happy to join you… to help you scrub behind your ears." He looked entirely back to normal, like nothing had ever happened except a hissy fit from Sam and a few cuts and bruises. If he was, in fact, rutting into Sam moments earlier, the evidence of it was entirely gone. What hung in his pants was the uninterested--but entirely exceptional, of course--endowment gifted to him as King of Hell. 

Sam stared down at Crowley in his seat, looking like he'd come out of a washing machine, but feeling anything but. Slowly, the realization of what had just happened infiltrated his haze, and a frustrated, embarrassed anger began to replace it. He grabbed his undershirt off the floor beside him, realizing it was tattered, and used it to wipe off his chest and stomach, "No." He huffed, realizing all his clothes were in bad shape. Shit. "No... You're going to sit right there." He cleared his throat, embarrassed.

"Pity." Crowley raised his brows, lifting his head off of his hand and straightening in his chair. "But I know the drill. I stay in my chair, you interrogate me in your typical Winchester fashion until I'm no good to you anymore. Large and in charge as you are." He smiled. "Very in charge. And very... large." He let his eyes flick down to Sam's hips casually.

Sam glanced down hot-headedly at Crowley’s insinuation, covering himself up hastily with shredded clothes. 

".... Good night, Sam." Crowley’s eyes flicked back up. He smiled, his back tall with pride. "Sweet dreams."

Sam shook Crowley's voice out of his head, letting out a heavy breath before giving up on his clothes and getting up. He half covered himself with his ripped jeans, grabbing his things around him, "Shut..." He glanced at him, "Shut up." He frowned at his ripped button-up, throwing that under his arm, too. He looked at Crowley. He considered putting the chain around him again, but... he didn't want to go near him. Not now. Not... naked. 

Sam huffed, "I'll be back in the morning." He decided. And before Crowley made a smart remark, he went on: "Then… we're finding Dean." His voice cracked. His lips tightened, and he stalked away, quite literally, butt-naked.

The look on Crowley’s face had said it all. He'd had the last word, even though he hadn't said anything at all.

Casually, he let his eyes wander over Sam's form as the door shut behind him. The sound echoed in the empty room. 

…

Just as coolly as ever, Crowley slipped two choice fingers up to his nose, sniffing them proudly. "Hmm..." A grin pulled over his lips again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up in about a week! 
> 
> Thanks for riding along with us. ;D


	4. Dean and Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel talk about Crowley’s phone call. Or: Another day, another diner (another waitress hits on Cas).

Castiel lay in silence, the television off and long forgotten, fingers intertwined on his stomach... staring at Dean. He may or may not have been doing so the entire night so far, but he certainly was now. He didn't say a word, he just... stared. Finally, in the dark of the night and the silence of the ended phone call, came a small but certain voice:

"...Dean..."

"... Yeah, Cas?" Dean responded, his voice just above a whisper. 

Castiel's expression didn't change. Although, when he spoke, his voice was a little quieter, raspier, "You are still in contact with Crowley...?" He asked, but it wasn't his usual angel-collecting-facts tone, or even his angel-clueless-about-life tone. This tone was very clued-in on how life worked, gathering more by the moment. If Castiel had been human, he might've even sounded bitter. Jealous. Luckily, he wasn't human. He was just very interested in Dean's response.

Dean growled, thumping his hand to his forehead as he lay on his own bed. "... No! No, I'm not in contact with him. He just..." He breathed, trying to collect himself, but his irritation was transparent. "... He just called. That's all."

"Because you wouldn't answer for Sam?" Castiel guessed, feeling a strange discomfort in his stomach. He didn't like it. Was it the coffee? Did... did he have to urinate again?

Dean licked his lips, shifting around in his bed like he was trying to get comfortable. "Look. Sam and I are fighting because I need my space, and he wants me there. I think I told you that already--but he's fine on his own, and so am I." He looked to Castiel quickly, huffing. "Besides, I've got you with me, don't I?" 

From Castiel's bed, it didn't look like anything but sleep deprived, slightly irritated Dean -- the usual. Except... suddenly that feeling was fading. "Yes, you assured Sam I would look after you." He reminded.

"... And you're gonna do that?" Dean asked, his eyes losing a bit of their irritation. In fact, he looked a little lost.

"I would not abandon you, Dean." Castiel said matter-of-factly, the dark holding no shadows over his angel eyes. What was more, he looked about ready to drop kick the King of Hell for the privilege. Because in that moment, sticking by Dean had nothing to do with his failing grace.

There was a pause.

"Right... right. Yeah." Dean mumbled dismissively, turning his gaze back to the ceiling. He sucked in a long breath, turning on his side to face the wall. "Great, so... I'm gonna get back to sleep. I need my beauty rest, after all." 

Castiel stared quizzically at the back of Dean's head, but he didn't comment on the matter. In fact, the room went silent once more, punctuated only by the squeak of a mattress and the slight rustling of sheets. And Dean's bed getting heavier.

Dean didn't need to look to figure out where Castiel was now. He blinked. "... Cas," He said, his voice ending in an accusing inflection. "... Why are you in my bed?" 

Castiel glanced over at the back of Dean's head. "I am watching over you," He stated, resuming what seemed like a standard six hour inspection of the ceiling.

"Yeah, well..." Dean blinked, still looking at the wall. "... Can't you do that from the other bed?" A moment. Then he resumed, his voice holding a flicker of annoyance. "... That I paid for?”

"Oh." Cas said, as if that made slightly less sense, but he'd do it anyway. He got up, returning to the other, Dean-less bed, diligent as ever. Finally, "... Good night, Dean."

Dean audibly breathed as Castiel removed himself from his bed. And for some reason, Dean almost regretted what he'd said. Maybe it did make more sense for Cas to be in his bed, because... Because.

Hell, he had no idea why.  
"Goodnight, Cas." He responded, shifting slightly, sucking in a long breath and releasing it slowly.

...

…..

Dean couldn't sleep. He wasn't tired. He never would be now, would he? Except he had to sleep. If he didn't pretend, even Castiel would realize that something was up. He'd experienced humanity now, so Dean couldn't just play it off.

Shit.

He opened his eyes, staring at the wall. It was going to be a long night.

 

\---

 

Dean's phone strummed the first few electric notes of Deep Purple's ‘Smoke on the Water,’ and Dean blinked his eyes open in furious relief. Right after Iron Man had ended the previous night, he had set his alarm to go off at 7:30AM -- just about the usual time he'd get up when he was on a hunt, maybe a little earlier. And after he realized he couldn't sleep, he'd been so thankful that he had. He wouldn't have to keep track of the time in his head. He could just wait.

The hours leading up to that, though, the countless seconds that had ticked and ticked and ticked by... he'd silently thought through every Metallica, Def Leppard, Journey, and Lynyrd Skynyrd album he knew. And that wasn't enough. He couldn't show Cas that he wasn't asleep, and if he didn't occupy himself somehow, he was going to start thinking about what was going on right now regarding his...condition. And he couldn't handle that. So he thought that music through at the highest volume his mind was capable of, but he still ended up getting stressed and depressed. 

So when that alarm buzzed, he jumped for mental joy, trying not to look too obvious. He collected himself... 

Tired, he was tired. He was waking up... 

He yawned, giving a larger than life stretch as he flopped onto his back. He grabbed his phone, tapping the alarm to a stop. "... Gooood morning, Cas," he greeted, sitting up in his bed and slapping his phone back on the night table. He rubbed his eyes. "Errrr...aaaaaghhhhh!" He stretched again, bigger, his yawn almost a roar. He smacked his lips together, trying to look foggy from sleep. He blinked a couple dozen times. That probably made him look bleary as hell. Awesome. 

Castiel looked at Dean strangely. Although, no more strangely than usual. "Good morning, Dean." He replied, looking--actually a little tired for someone who didn't need to sleep. 

Dean smiled at Castiel, ecstatic that he’d convinced him. But one good look at the angel and Dean's brows furrowed. "Hey... you look tired, man. That ain't right. You feelin' okay?" He asked, shifting towards Castiel uncertainly. He felt a pang of... what. Concern, maybe. Maybe something more. Anyway, it lit up his chest and made him feel an annoying sense of uneasiness. Dean didn't like it. 

"Yes. I'm fine." Castiel responded certainly, sitting up in bed. But, he gave a tiny cough. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, glancing over at Dean, "What are we doing?" He sighed, getting up.

Dean wasn't entirely sure he believed Castiel. Since when did Angels cough? But, then again, Dean wasn't exactly telling the truth either. He decided to drop it. If Cas said he was fine, then he was fine. He sighed. "Well, I'm gonna change. Maybe you can go up to the front desk and get a morning paper? Then, uh..." He smirked. "Greasy diner food. How's that sound for fun?"

It looked like Castiel didn't hear him at first. But then...

"Alright, Dean." He agreed. He straightened up, flexing his proverbial--or not--wings, and headed out the door.

Dean watched as Castiel left, happy to see he was up for helping. And just before he did, a shadow caught Dean's eye. His body tensed up, and he snapped into high alert for a moment, trying to find where it had come from. But he didn’t see it again... Okay. He'd just imagined it. He breathed. Yeah, sure, he was looking for a case, but one popping up without warning right in his own motel room: not an ideal situation. Shaking it off, he began shrugging his shirt over his head, getting changed into his clothes for the day. 

Before long, Dean was changed into a dark twill jacket layered over a dark jean button up and dark shirt, tied together with dark canvas jeans…

He was all about those classic layered looks, but his tastes were a little... dark that day. Literally, dark clothing. Could that be because-- He stopped his thoughts. Those rogue thoughts were getting ridiculous, the demon in him was not controlling his fashion choices. He shook his head, turning to move a few things, packing up so he could be ready to take off in a few hours. 

After a little while, he looked up to the door. Shouldn't Cas be back by now? He stuck out his lower lip in thought, moving to the door with caution. He opened it with a click. "... Cas?" He called, looking left and right just outside of the door. 

Castiel was headed back to Dean's room with a newspaper held awkwardly in his hands, as if he'd opened it up accidentally and didn't know how to fold it back together. When he saw Dean he stopped in front of the room, blinked, then held it out for him, giving up trying to fix his mess and looking a little hopeless about it. It was all fine and good, except, Cas had come from the exact opposite direction of the front desk.

"I... couldn't figure out the numbering system." He said, referring to the row of motel doors, "But the couple in room 304 was more than happy to give me their paper. In exchange for my leaving the premises. Immediately." He added.

Dean laughed, almost a chuckle really, ushering Castiel and the poor mistreated paper back into their room. "Mmman... Thanks, Cas." He muttered, throwing the thing down on the bed as he returned to packing his stuff. "You are a heavenly host of comedies. Some golden stuff, really..." Dean pointed to a chair, smiling. "Just hang out for a couple minutes if you've got all your stuff together. We'll be heading out as soon as I'm packed." The smile in his eye sparkled with a gleam. "We'll just see where the road takes us." 

Castiel took a seat on the edge of the bed, closing his mouth, staring confusedly at Dean’s eyes. Finally, "Agreed." He cleared his throat, looking away.

Dean's attentions shifted over Castiel. Was he ruffled for some reason? Dean was going to tease him about it, but... Nah. Still smiling to himself, Dean returned to packing his things. 

Just a couple minutes later, and Dean was throwing his bag over his shoulder, leading Castiel out of the room and locking it up behind them. A quick stop at the manager's office later, and they were checked out. Dean shut the driver's door of the Impala, and the engine kicked to life. "Got any food preferences?" He asked, backing out of his spot. "The manager said there's a good restaurant right down the way here. 'They've got a short stack the size of a long stack and a side of bacon is a full order.' " He looked to Castiel amusedly, clicking into drive. "Or so he says."

"No, I'm not hungry." He said, "I'll just accompany you while you eat." 

"I know you're not hungry," Dean said, the engine roaring as they hit the road. For once, he fully understood what that meant. It was odd not having his stomach bubble up at the mention of food in the morning. One thing was for sure though: "That doesn't mean you can't have any. Don't you just want to taste it again?" 

Castiel stared at Dean peculiarly. He looked like he wanted to argue again, but, it was a nice gesture. Hm. "Perhaps." Castiel sighed, looking at him thoughtfully.

Dean’s smile widened. "Great," he said, slapping Cas's shoulder gleefully. His hand slapped back to the wheel. "My treat." That was a good sign. If Cas was up for eating after so long... maybe things wouldn't be so bad for Dean. Maybe things would be okay.

Castiel blinked at that slap. Then he blinked few more times out the front window. Finally he cleared his throat.

Dean's eyes slipped to Castiel once more, his brow flickering low for a moment at that throat clear. Could angels get congested? Hm. Whatever. 

 

\---

 

"Thank ya, Kathleen. I'll have a coffee," Dean said cheerily as he slipped into the booth they'd been guided to. And before the waitress moved away, he pointed to Cas. "...And so will this guy."

Castiel set his menu down in surprise, "Ah. Yes. Thank you. Katheleen." He looked anywhere but at Dean.

"All right, two coffees. I'll go get you those while you two take a look at the menu."

"Awesome." Dean smiled, following the waitress's backside casually with his eyes as she strutted away. "Hm..." He hummed, crumpling the paper he'd brought in with him in his grip. 

At that hum, Castiel glanced at Dean, then in the direction he was staring, right at Katheleen's...

Oh.

It was actually... quite mesmerizing. "Hm." He hummed shortly. He didn't remember finding those particularly appealing since he became an angel again. Interesting.

Dean's brows quickly lowered, shooting instead to Castiel. "... Cas," He chuckled, leaning over the table to hit him amicably in the chest. "Look at you, Casanova." More chuckling. Then, still friendly, but very serious. "Hey, offer still stands. If you ever want a wingman to help you pick up a date, I'm there."

Castiel snapped out of it when Dean slapped his chest. He looked up at him, unfazed, "I have my own wings." He said curiously, eying Dean. "But... no thank you."

Dean blinked, his smile becoming a little stiff. "... Should have seen that coming," he muttered quietly, glancing off somewhere into the restaurant.

"Here you are," the waitress interrupted, settling two mugs of coffee down on the table. 

"Thanks," Dean answered, quickly flashing a smile again before taking a swig of the coffee and starting on the paper. He couldn't flirt with a waitress that Cas was interested in. That just felt... That made him jealous, he couldn't flirt when he was-- "Whoa." He gasped audibly, eyes going wide. He looked at Cas quickly. What? 

He flipped the paper tall up in front of his nose, blocking his face. He did not just think that.

Castiel eyed Dean strangely over his mug. His eyes fell when the paper went up. He wasn't concerned with the paper, however, he was looking around the table for something. Found it. Sugar. He took a packet and shook it into his coffee... Then another. Then another. Maybe... one more would do it.

Dean's thoughts were still buzzing furiously behind that paper. This whole demon thing wasn't affecting him too much so far. It was making him a little angrier. It was making him more depressed when he felt it... It was amplifying his emotions. Latent ones. No--no, not... latent. Just... That's it, it was making him frisky. So damn frisky, that he was looking at everything on two legs as a.... 

Dean tipped the corner of the paper down, just enough for an eye to peek. His brow slid up quizzically. "...Cas," he began, setting the paper down on the table. "... You got enough sugar there, buddy?" 

Castiel didn't look up, he just added another sugar packet. He stared intently at his concoction, then picked it up and took a sip. His eyes narrowed. He set it back down beside a small pile of empty packets, "Still... doesn't taste right." He said, looking up at Dean.

Dean stared down at the cup. Then up to Castiel. "... We can ask for cream when the waitress comes back." He offered. "Speaking of which," he picked up the menu, giving it a quick once over. "How do you like your eggs? Gonna get you a short stack with a side of 'em." A smile. "You probably like pancakes, right?" 

Castiel looked a little lost. "Yes... I think so." He said, sipping at his coffee. Hm. He eyed the last few packets longingly, then returned to his mug. The warmth felt nice on his hands.

Dean followed Cas's gaze, setting the menu down for a moment. What was it about that look...?

"Just take the damn packets, Cas. I'm not gonna use 'em." He sighed.

"You two ready to order?" The waitress was back, pen and pad in hand.

"Yes," Dean interrupted himself with a fake smile. "I'll have the special with a side of bacon, and he'll have the short stack, scrambled eggs on the side." He ordered smoothly, handing both of the menus back to her.

"And... could I have some cream?" Castiel added, "For the coffee."

The waitress scribbled it down. "No problem... I'll put your order in right now," She smiled at Castiel. "And I'll be right back with that cream." She stalked off.

Dean's eyes jumped to Cas as soon as that waitress had smiled. "... I was gonna get the cream." 

Castiel blinked, "I... apologize." He said. Although, he really had no idea why.

Dean didn't have time to explain himself. The waitress was back in a flash, setting down a small, white carafe filled with cream. "There you go, darlin’."

Dean didn't look at her. He didn't look at anyone. He crossed his arms as the waitress left, huffing out a small breath. He was seriously... No, no. He couldn't think like that. Quickly, he took another sip of his coffee, then flipped the paper up in front of his face again. "... Shit." 

Castiel was already mentally preparing himself not to look at the waitress's behind. Luckily, he didn't need to. He had Dean. "What's wrong?" He asked, that exclamation distracting him from his coffee.

"What? Oh--" Dean blinked. He'd said that out loud. Oops. "Uh... this..." He slammed the paper down on the table in front of Castiel. "This article. It's just so..." He struggled for a word. "Surprising." There. Dodged that bullet. 

Castiel took the paper for himself to see, not sure what ‘surprising’ entailed.

There, between a pet shelter ad and an article about the grand opening of a Chicago restaurant, was an article in bold: Murderer slain in jail, no one seen entering cell, guard says.

Castiel's brow lowered as he read. "Do you think this is a case?" He asked.

Dean took a second. He blinked. 

"Hey, give me that," he muttered with a little bit of embarrassment. He looked it over more carefully, skimming the article. "Huh..." He looked up. "This really could be a case."

"Yes, I suppose so." Castiel eyed him oddly, adding cream to his coffee at last.

Dean smiled, continuing to read the article as Castiel loaded up his coffee. This was it. This was what he needed to distract himself. A case... Yeah. Perfect! "We're close to this, Cas... We should go check it out." He said a few minutes later. He looked up, smiling. 

Castiel stared at him curiously. He hadn't seen Dean so excited for a case in a long time, but... Oh, this coffee wasn't bad, "Hm." He considered it, sipping at the mug. "Are you sure you want my help?" He looked to him, "I wasn't much of a hunter. And that was when I was human..."

"Yeah, but now you're an angel." He leaned forward again, hitting Castiel on the shoulder in play. "You're like a special weapon. I'd be crazy not to use you--" he was about to smack Castiel again. He was touching him a lot. He took in a breath, sitting down again. 

Castiel ignored it. He was more concerned with being Dean's secret weapon. He'd be some weapon if his powers started to fail halfway through the case, or when Dean really needed him. "I'll... do my best." He said, "But..." He took a breath. He couldn't tell him. He wasn't sure why. He just... didn't want Dean to know. He wished Dean would hit his arm again. Or, whatever he was doing more frequently lately.

Dean looked up from the table. He looked concerned. "... Cas? What is it?" 

"The special, side of bacon." 

Dean looked up. Oh, the waitress. "Oh, um, yeah. That's mine." He said, pointing in front of him. She placed it there, setting it down from her tray. Then Castiel's in front of him. Short stack, side of scrambled eggs. "I'm just around the corner if you need me."

"Yeah... Thanks," Dean said, giving her a forced smile. It came less naturally than the others. She disappeared, and Dean's eyes were on Castiel. 

Castiel picked up his fork, but when he glanced at Dean, he couldn't ignore him. "I've just..." He sighed, "…been feeling a little tired lately, is all." Then, "I don't want to put you in any danger, Dean."

"Angels don't get tired, Cas." Dean said, his tone incredulous, almost as if he were reminding him. "Are you—have you still not recharged after the whole heaven thing or something?" 

Castiel looked up at him inscrutably, something like shame flashing behind his eyes. "It will take some time, Dean," he lied. It never used to bother him, but now he reserved it for only the most special occasions, and he still didn't like doing it. Not to Dean. 

Dean’s brows frurrowed. Castiel’s expression flashed something other than the usual, I'm-a-staring-rock flare. Was he lying? 

"... All right." Dean relented. He couldn't call Castiel out on such a small amount of suspicion. Not when Dean was hiding something bigger. "Well... Eat up! Maybe Angels don't need to eat normally, but it might help when they're in need of a recharge." He smiled again. Damn. He was getting tired of forcing those. 

Castiel wasn't sure it worked that way, but... it worth a try. The pancakes did... smell. Good. 

Castiel let the conversation dissipate, the clattering utensils the only sound as he tried a bite. "Hm." He sounded. Then reached for the syrup. He added about as much syrup as his coffee had sugar and cream then took another bite, the syrup hanging and glittering off the fork. "Hm." He continued to eat. "It's good." He mumbled, not sure what that meant about what was happening to him, but at least for a moment, he was glad.

After that, Dean didn't have to force his smile anymore. It lifted the corners of his lips naturally. "Good." Dean echoed, finally getting started on his own meal -- meat first. "See? You're gonna be back to normal in no time." He said, stabbing a sausage link with his fork. That makes one of us.

Dean looked down to his plate, hiding that last thought. At least they had this hunt to look forward to. 

He continued stuffing his face. 

Castiel continued eating as well, enjoying the syrup and coffee. And the pancakes, of course. And for the first time in what felt like a year, he had a purely human thought: he wondered if he could make them at the motel. On a stove. It really was all just molecules. He could add them together, then add syrup... Castiel must have been ‘spacing out’ because a bit of syrup dropped onto his thumb. He gave it a firm look, then lifted the pad of his thumb to his lips and sucked it off. It really was good. He continued eating.

That movement caught Dean’s eye. He watched Castiel as he noticed the syrup. As he brought the thumb to his lips. As he sucked--

Dean stared at him unblinking, mid-chew. It was his turn to space. 

Castiel's chewing came to a slow. He eyed Dean strangely, then, somewhat uncomfortably, swallowed. "Is something wrong, Dean?"

"H-hm?" Dean muttered, brows shooting up in surprise. And in the expectant inhale that came with that surprise: he choked, a small piece of sausage wiggling its way into his windpipe. 

He beat his chest, coughing hard. He cleared his throat. More loud coughing, holding up a finger as in saying ‘Just a second. Coughing up a lung.’ 

Castiel closed his mouth at that finger, waiting patiently. Then, slightly less patiently. He sighed, leaning over the table, and pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead. Dean's trachea cleared instantly. Castiel sat back down, putting a fist over his mouth and giving a small cough. Oh. He got syrup on his tie. He frowned, looking back up to Dean, "Are you alright?"

Dean gave one more cough reflexively, then he breathed, blinking a few times as he rearranged himself a bit in his seat. He held up a hand, an embarrassed smile spreading over his face as he saw the waitress nearing, concern over her expression. "I'm fine! Everything's good." He turned to another table that was staring. His smile was fake. "I'm fine." With a few murmurs, everyone went back to eating and serving. 

Dean hung his head a little. "Uh... Thanks, Cas. I was just.." He searched for the words. "... excited! That's all...!" He struck the newspaper, indicating the article again. And as his eyes sunk low, he saw that spot on Castiel's tie. He stared. 

Castiel dragged his thumb over it. "Yes, as am I." He agreed, licking the syrup off his thumb nonchalantly and looking back up to Dean. Maybe they would make a good team again.

Oh, shit. His tongue. 

... What in fuck was happening to Dean?

"Hey," he called out to the waitress. She was all the way across the restaurant, so it was loud. "Kathleen? Can we have the check, please?"

She looked him over with confusion, but nodded from across the room. 

Dean slammed a napkin down on his plate, his food barely touched. "Wanna take that with you? You can eat it on the road. We've got a couple of hours ahead of us and a meeting with some jail guards by the afternoon." 

Castiel stared at Dean in confusion. "Dean, what's wrong?" He asked again, keeping his voice down. It wasn't like Dean to leave before he finished a meal. Castiel's eyes darted around the restaurant, wondering if they were in immediate danger. He couldn't sense anything. Was he really already that far gone?

Dean sighed. "No... no, Cas, it's nothing. Really. I'm just..." He licked his lips, thinking. "... We just gotta get on the road if we want a meeting today."

Castiel seemed to be trying to wrap his head around it. Finally, he leaned back, relaxing a bit. "Ok, Dean." He stared at his food for a minute longer, then, "Excuse me." He caught the waitress, "I would like to take this with me." He told her seriously.

The waitress paused, settling the handwritten check on the table. "…Sure. I'll be right back with that for you." She looked at Castiel, her smile now forced. 

Dean didn't bother watching her go this time. He picked up the check, quickly looking the amount over, then set a couple of bills on the table. 

The server was back almost immediately. She dropped down two boxes. 

"Keep the change," Dean said, handing the bills and check over to the woman. 

"Thanks," she said, her smile a little more honest, but still lacking something. She turned on her heel. 

Dean stood. "All right. Let's get goin'."  
Castiel put his pancakes in the box, realized the plate wouldn't fit, then slid them inside carefully with his fork. He closed it and got up. He followed Dean closely to the car.

Dean didn't notice the shuffle with the plate; his back was turned. So when he heard Castiel get up, he walked. And he led them out to the car, leaving his own box behind-- and half of his meal. 

Okay. He had to be pent up or something. Pair that with new demon... ‘urges’... and Dean was starting to question whether Castiel should be so close all the time... 

Maybe he could find a hook up in a bar around ground zero hunting zone. Yeah. That would do it. He let himself into the car, closing the door behind him. 

Castiel did the same. He closed the door beside him, then, not sure what to do with his box, kept it in his lap. He glanced at Dean a few times as he got settled in, then, finally, "Are you upset with me because the past two waitresses have shown interest in me and not you?" He asked bluntly.

Dean nearly swerved as he merged back into traffic. He blinked at Castiel, wide-eyed. "I... I... Of... You..." Dean slowly closed his mouth. He looked like he'd just taken a shot of acetone. His eyes found the road again. "... No, Cas. I'm not... jealous." He huffed, forcing an incredulous chuckle. 

It didn't seem like Dean was lying, but Castiel was still unsatisfied. He sighed quietly and looked out the passenger window.

Dean blinked. He stared at Castiel, feeling a little... What the hell was he feeling?! "SERIOUSLY." Dean burst out, smacking the wheel with his hands. He took a moment, breathed. 

Oh shit he'd yelled out loud. 

".... Uh... seriously... how long is this drive, right? I want to hunt whatever this is... now. Ha... hah..." He paled, trying his best to look nonchalant. 

The strange look Castiel was giving him was about a step down from boring a hole through Dean's head, "Dean. Are you sure you're feeling okay? You've been... acting strangely all morning." He said cautiously, "We could pull off at another motel, find another case--"

"No!" Dean blurted. The word motel-- far too much promise in that word. Dean sighed. He seriously needed to get laid. This was just ridiculous. He was fuckin' embarrassed just thinking to himself. "No... it'll just be a couple hours. I mean, it'll feel like forever, but I can handle it...Please, Cas..." Don't ask again, don't ask again... 

Castiel studied Dean carefully, but what ultimately made him comply was the way Dean said please. Castiel wasn't sure if this would be good for Dean or not, but Dean needed this. And Castiel... he couldn't say no to that. He didn't say another word, he just stared out the window again, until finally, "What do you think it could be?" He asked, deep in thought, "Something that can walk past a guard and not be seen is either invisible, or being covered up by the guards."

Dean audibly sighed. "...Or an angry spirit," he offered, sounding more like himself already. "It's been a while since I've smashed up a good haunting."

"Hm." Castiel considered it. "It's been a bit longer for me, I'm afraid." He admitted.

Dean smiled a little, all of the tension leaving him in a rush. Maybe all he needed was this case. He sat back in his seat. "Yeah, well that's no problem. I'll get you loaded up with some rock salt shells and we'll be in business." 

Maybe... that would be for the best. Castiel wouldn't have to use his grace for a while, unless Dean got hurt. He looked to him seriously. "Yes." He agreed, "Business."

That answer was awesome, but a little unexpected. Just a little. But just enough to get Dean to smile wide... and laugh. He rocked back against his seat, his chuckles moving through him cathartically. 

After almost a minute, he took in a long breath, then slowly exhaled. He glanced at Castiel, and he didn't have to say it. But... what the hell. "... Thanks, Cas."

Castiel looked to him in confused, "... For what?"

Dean's smile froze. A pang of frustration shot through him, but it disappeared a second later. Instead, his smile just became gentler. "... Never mind, Cas." He stared back at the road in front of him. "Never mind."

Castiel seemed to take that as an answer, because in the next second, he was looking out the front windshield, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel are a little hopeless right now (and always)... but there's more smut coming soon. Cheers to any who can guess with which couple.


	5. Sam and Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam returns to Crowley for answers, but they both get more than they bargained for.

Sam had given up on contacting Castiel after the phone call last night. The conversation kept ringing through his head. He tried to pick out anything, a code, a misplaced tone, an odd word, nothing. It was Dean all right. And what was more, he'd just been jacked off by Crowley.

No.

No. Stop that.

Sam's brain was out of control. Three showers later, he was no closer to sleep or feeling clean, so he went down to storage and cleaned all the guns. All of them. Then he made a healthy early breakfast, sat down, scrapped it, and made bacon. The smell reminded him of his brother. And oddly enough, Crowley. Who'd just fingered him to orgasm.

No. God damn it. No.

It was hopeless. Sam had to face the music. But that was it. One time. Crowley was a manipulative demon from Hell, of course he was going to try that to get out of that Devil's Trap. But it wasn't going to work again. Winchesters, they learned from their mistakes.

Right?

Sam huffed a breath. He checked the clock one more time. It was finally morning. Finally time to check on Crowley and to show him that he was fine. That he could take whatever Crowley threw at him. Nothing was going to steer him off track. Nothing.

Sam opened the bunker door with a reverberant metal clang and stepped inside, face set, shadows under his eyes. The door slammed shut behind him.

Crowley's eyes flicked up. He was still sitting in the chair despite not being chained to it anymore. He looked as if he hadn't moved all night, in fact. And when Sam walked in, "Mmm... Good morning, darling. Sleep well?" He asked, his voice poison. His eyes were locked on Sam's, everything about him as cool and relaxed as when he'd left hours earlier. 

Sam hadn't expected anything less. He glowered at him from across the room, not moving any closer. "Tell me about the first blade," He muttered. It wasn't a question.

"Well, you see, it's this lovely little relic-- the jaw of an ass, they say." He answered, not skipping a beat, meeting Sam's eyes in a dare to come closer. 

Sam's expression didn't change, but he didn't respond right away. After mentally collecting himself, he went on, "That's it?" He shot that daring look right back, not moving an inch. 

"You know what I've been asking myself, Moose?" Crowley cooed, raising a certain two of his fingers into the air. "Does he smell this good... all the time?" He inhaled for Sam to see, not breaking his eye contact.

Sam's breath caught in his throat. He looked like he wanted to move forward, to strangle Crowley, but he took a quick breath and fought it off. "No. That's not happening again." He warned him, trying to get back on track. "Tell me about the mark of Cain."

"So you're telling me you wouldn't like it to happen again?" Crowley retorted, looking honestly confused. He dropped his fingers to his side. "Because I've been fantasizing about you all night. How you felt, how you looked..." He hummed, his voice marbling with heat. "... I don't do it often, but I've been wanting to know how you taste, Sam... How magical it would be to choke on your ...massive cock." He was practically purring, his voice low and warm. 

Sam's lips tightened, hands balled into fists. "Tell me about the mark of Cain," he repeated, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. He wanted to kill Crowley, that was for sure, but all that pent up energy was now more or less being focused into not thinking about last night. And it wasn't Sam's brain that was doing the thinking.

Crowley hummed, stretching the sound out into something barely human, almost animalistic. Somewhere right in the middle of a growl and a purr. "... Sam," he voiced at the end of it. "Listen to you... so filled with passion. I want to wrap my lips around you and make that passion pour out of you until the walls are vibrating..."

Sam looked away, blinking hard, just... trying to think. He wiped a hand down his face, and he could feel himself shaking. This was ridiculous. He needed information. He needed to know why Dean left. He needed... 

Sam looked back to Crowley, mulling something over deep within him, looking just as vulnerable and pent up as last night. "If I... do this... this thing, with you... will you tell me about the mark of Cain?" He asked, just trying to make sense of it.

As soon as Sam began to speak, those words slipping off of his tongue, Crowley's grin became dark, his breathing slowing, precise. "... Sam," he murmured, standing up from the chair. "... Come here." 

Sam's harsh glare faltered, staring vulnerably at Crowley. Finally, after what appeared to be a deep internal struggle, he moved. He approached the edge of the Devil's Trap hesitantly. Then after awkwardly clearing his throat and avoiding direct eye contact with Crowley, he took a step into the circle.

Crowley didn't waste time. The second that Sam had stepped into that circle, he was stalking close. He tipped his head to the side, a predator, circling around him slowly. He stopped. "... Strip." He said. His tone didn’t imply that it was optional.

Sam's breath deepened. Slowly, trying to keep himself under control, Sam removed his flannel. He tossed it to the floor, feeling strangely self-conscious. But the way Crowley stalked around him kept sending rushes down his spine and hips. He took a steadying breath, then pulled his undershirt off over his head. He tossed that aside, too, feeling the cool air of the bunker over his chest and back. He hesitated on the belt buckle, however.

Two hands came from behind Sam, curling around his waist from either side, and Sam’s breath hitched. The belt buckle clinked, Crowley's hands brushing Sam's uncertain fingers aside to unbuckle it himself. Slowly, he slipped it out of Sam's jeans. Crowley's hands brushed over Sam's hips again as he took it away. Moments later, he'd stalked around to his front with the belt still in his grip. 

Sam came to at the look he received from Crowley in that moment: expectant and sharp. And, in the absence of the belt, he seemed to catch his breath. He began undoing his pants. He undid the button, then the zipper, then slid them down his body. 

It was then that he realized how hard he was. He paused. He didn't hesitate on the second try, though. He kept going, stepping out of his shoes to let his pants fall down to the floor, stripped down to nothing but sleek, black boxers, and a bit of a tent.

Finally, and only because he didn't want Crowley to do this for him, he tucked his thumbs under the waistline and, after a moment of mental preparation, closed his eyes. He dropped those, too.

Silence stretched on for several moments. Then, Crowley stalked close again. So close, the hellish heat from his body radiated in against Sam's nude skin. The small reverberation from Crowley's voice joined in. "Hmmmm..." A low, full hum, nearly touching the back of Sam's ear. The tip of his finger touched down against Sam's upper back, slowly wisping down the curve of his spine, following it slowly... all the way ... to his tailbone. Crowley leaned in to Sam's neck, inhaling loudly, air rushing over Sam's skin. Sam shuddered silently, closing his eyes almost stubbornly.

Crowley's fingertip left him. "... You're gorgeous, Sam." He muttered against Sam's ear, the touch of his teeth and the humidity of his breath coming down against Sam’s lobe.

The shudder that followed was a little more audible. Sam bit it back, just feeling that sensation course down his body. He fidgeted as he felt it go right down to his length.

Another low purr of a hum. And with it, Crowley's teeth applied the lightest of pressure against Sam's ear, tugging it slightly. "... Sam.." He hissed in a warm whisper. And just as he did, his lips curled around Sam's earlobe, sucking it lightly as his arm pressed in against Sam's shoulder, holding him. 

Sam tensed a bit against Crowley, but his muscles were starting to melt. "Mm..." He grunted, covering up a moan.

"Hmm... Is that nice?" He hummed into Sam's ear, nipping it just as lightly as before, bringing his other arm up behind his back. Barely touching him as he dragged his fingers in large circles along his shoulder blades. Sam’s breathing held. He was just so pent up; it felt like electricity. 

"Are you one of those types?" Crowley asked in a hot whisper, somehow even closer to Sam's ear. "... Do you like it this gentle?" Another brush of his lips against Sam's ear, before pressing his lips in light, slow kisses around the back of Sam's neck, leading them around to his other ear. Just breathing on it, not quite touching, as his body finally pressed in against Sam's back. 

Sam tried to answer clearly, but then Crowley did... that thing... to his other ear, and a small sound escaped him. "Just... get on with it." He tried to cover, but he shivered when Crowley leaned against it, perking up. He didn't like being played with, but this... this was a whole other level he'd never explored before. And it startled him how much it riled him up.

"Hm." Crowley picked his head away, looking Sam over in surprise. "My, my... bossy, aren't we?" He mumbled amusedly. But he didn't let Sam have another word. Instead, he dipped his head in, squeezing his body in against Sam's. Biting Sam's earlobe hard, just enough to draw a prick of blood.   
"Ah!" Sam exclaimed, almost pushing back against him instinctively, but Crowley held him tight, and the sensation flipped from pained surprise to a crawling curiosity seething down his body. Sam's sound turned to something between a growl and a moan, as if not sure if he wanted to warn Crowley off or drag him closer. 

The sound that came from Crowley in response was something like a chuckle, but not quite. There was a flare of a growl in it, and arousal. "Ohhh... Samantha," he purred, lightly licking Sam's ear. "You do make some intriguing noises..." He pulled Sam's earlobe between his lips, sucking at it softly-- Gentle again, as in licking his wound. And as he did, a purposeful, gentle hand slipped down Sam's arm, then slipped to his side, his hip... his lower stomach... brushing only an inch below the line of where boxers would hug him. 

Sam had instantly made to retort, but his breath got caught in his throat. When he finally got it out, it was with only half of the confidence, "It's Sam." He breathed shortly. But he was becoming more and more shaken the lower that hand went.

"Aww.." Crowley pouted, letting his chin hang slightly on Sam's shoulder, his hand halting. "Well... that's no fun." As if in playful punishment, Crowley continued to circle his fingers lower and lower on Sam's hip, a half inch at a time, kissing at the shell of his ear... until he snapped back up to his treasure trail and yanked on it. 

Sam shouted in surprise, reflexively backing away... right into Crowley, "What are you doing?" He panted over his shoulder, looking startled, but he was fully erect now, back heaving.

Crowley sidestepped, and a moment later, he was in front of Sam, looking up at him. That maneuver surprised Sam, at least enough to shut him up. Crowley jabbed a finger into the middle of his chest... which he trailed low, getting slower right around his hip, right around his... he slipped it over Sam's upper thigh. And he stepped up against him, not looking perturbed even as he had to look very much up at Sam to make eye contact. He swallowed, trying to look intimidating, but it was hard when he was so.. hard. 

"Lay on your back." He muttered, letting his hand lightly grip Sam's thigh. 

Sam glanced around instinctively, then carefully moved down. He realized he didn't want to be on his knees in front of Crowley, so he sat down on his butt, then, hesitantly, glancing back up at Crowley a few times, leaned back onto his elbows. He couldn't bring himself to lay down completely, feeling a surge of stubbornness take over, even in that vulnerable position. Especially in that vulnerable position.

Crowley stepped closer. His shoes clipping as he stood over Sam, stopping right at the bottom of his feet. "Hm..." He raised a brow, looking at the way Sam was positioned. "So, you want to watch?" He grinned, slipping his hands coolly into his pockets. "I mean, you are more than welcome to. I just assumed you might want to close your eyes ... picture a pretty blonde or a busty brunette... If I'm more your type..." He shrugged, letting the insinuation hang in the air. 

Sam exhaled indignantly, then realized he was butt naked on the floor at Crowley's feet, and dropped back on the floor with a huff.

"That's a good Moose," Crowley praised, smiling at him. And with another tilt of his head, Crowley dipped his shoe between Sam's feet, bumping one of them aside. "Spread your legs, darling."

Sam glanced up at him, then back at the ceiling, shifting his foot aside reluctantly, becoming less sure the more... exposed he became. He swallowed, looking anywhere but at Crowley.

The second after Sam moved his foot, Crowley was dipping low, grabbing Sam's legs and pulling them apart. He crawled in between them, bending them up at the knee and slightly back towards Sam's abdomen. Soon, he was resting Sam's thighs against the fronts of his own, slipping both hands down Sam's chest, feeling the definition there, the warmth. Down his hips... 

Sam wanted to look down. Part of him simply wasn't comfortable with being prone like this to Crowley, but the other part of him was so consumed with anticipation that every sigh and breath out of Crowley made his length quiver. That and, Sam was already pretending this was someone else. Anyone else. He was... embarrassed. 

While Sam was formulating a devilishly good-looking woman in his mind, the chain that connected Crowley’s hands together had tugged under Sam's erection, pulling it to hold it up straight and proud as the cool chain dug over his sensitive flesh. Sam’s breath slowed in anticipation. Then, with a little more pressure, the chain tugged Sam's arousal low... then it bounced back to his stomach the moment the chain moved just a little too far. 

Whap.

The metal slapped like a whip against Sam's thighs. 

Sam flinched, "Would you stop that?" He snapped his eyes down, unceremoniously meeting Crowley... Crowley's eyes, then turned a spectacular shade of pink. He dropped his head again, swallowing.

Crowley grinned at Sam's interjection, gently caressing his thighs. "Sorry, love." He raised his hands, the chain clinking noisily. "I'm all thumbs in these." 

Sam sighed back on the floor, too embarrassed to say anything else. Not so much by what he'd said, but by just how good it felt being caressed like that, looked at like that... He looked away, up, anywhere that wasn't at Crowley.

Crowley chuckled darkly. He slipped his hands back up Sam's thighs, feeling his skin as the chain slipped up under Sam's balls. Crowley hefted it high... then dropped one of his hands down and around Sam, tightening the chain around his erection as well. And he held it firm. Sam almost interjected, but then Crowley was dipping down to Sam's hip, kissing him there softly. Another one at his inner thigh. Sam took a shallow breath, eyes fluttering shut. Crowley moved his lips higher, licking up to the side of Sam's balls, but stopped before making contact. His breath was hot. 

His heartbeat quickened as he waited for that next lick to come, the feel of Crowley's breath making him dizzy, his own breath becoming audible. He could feel himself get harder and harder in that chain.

"Hmm... Is this good?" Crowley muttered, pressing another kiss against Sam there. Then a lick in the dip of his pelvis, to the left of his arousal. He tightened the chain a little more. Crowley's tongue dipped in a little closer to Sam, just grazing the base of him. 

Sam had been practically holding his breath. "Yeah..." He breathed, shuddering, "Yeah."

"... Lovely," he muttered in response, his lips buzzing against Sam's skin. They didn't continue over Sam though. Instead, they traveled in a circle around him. One slow kiss at a time. Upon making it to the other side of him, right in the dip between thigh and arousal, Crowley opened one of those kisses up, sucking gently on Sam's skin. "Oh, Sam... I like this... Your musk..." A nip. A nip a little lower. And suddenly, Crowley's nose was stuffed in against Sam's balls, inhaling him deeply. "... Mmm... Maybe next time, I'll catch you before you shower."

For some reason, it was that moment that Sam realized he was fooling around with a sick weirdo. Unfortunately, that moment coincided with the first actual contact Sam got after all that teasing, so he practically moaned his realization, "Oh... god..."

Crowley buzzed his approval right into Sam's sensitive skin. And what began as a sickening display of dominance, ended with Crowley sucking on one of Sam's testicles. He buzzed against it, using tongue, teeth, and good old-fashioned suction against him there, gripping Sam's hips tight. 

That almost moan of Sam's turned into a full one. He tried to move his hips, just to release some of the tension, but Crowley had him pinned all over, and Sam loved it, "Oh... god." He breathed, this time, far from critical.

Crowley visibly prickled, although he was still smiling when he rose enough to say: "Sam... watch your language." He chuckled, snapping right back down to drag his teeth over Sam's other testicle, sucking it up into his mouth and lathing it with his tongue. 

Sam whined in surprise, his length throbbing... "Ah... shit." He breathed.

"... Much better..." Crowley rumbled against him, slowly working his mouth up, catching the underside of Sam's length. He pressed a few kisses there, trailing them up to the head of him, slow, making Sam's head roll back. 

Crowley paused. "You know..." Crowley swooned, his voice like silk. "I would love to wrap my hands around you ...to pump you into my mouth, to feel you pulse... milk you dry with my fingers...” Sam had to bite back a moan. He'd never gotten so aroused by someone just talking, but the words that were spilling out of Crowley's mouth, in that gravelly purr, had his head buzzing, his chest rising with every anticipatory breath. 

“But," Crowley tugged one of his hands, then the other, moving Sam's erection back and forth with a jerk. "... I'm a little limited here. Maybe I'll..." The chain clinked, Crowley circling his hand around Sam once on the left, once on the right, then his hands were on him... and the chain, too. And as he began to stroke Sam with his hands, the chain slid up and down, tightening and loosening, cool metal biting into his sensitive skin. 

Sam breathed a strangled moan. The sensations mingled perfectly in his length, the rough hand stimulating him, while the chain chilled and teased him. Even the pain from the metal biting around him stimulated him in ways Sam had forgotten about entirely. It was... good. 

Sam sighed in aroused frustration. God, he wanted more, and yet, it was perfect.

"Mmm... Is that right?" Crowley growled back, smiling soft. He looked down over Sam hungrily, spitting over him. He brought his hands up, spreading a mix of saliva and precum slickly over his length, the chains grabbing onto it, letting them slip more easily over Sam's arousal. That pull got a moan out of Sam, his head tipping back. Crowley looked on in heated curiosity, working Sam with firm strokes of his digits, with slick slides of those unforgiving iron links. And with a flick of his eyes down to Sam's expression, he lowered his lips... and kissed the tip of him. 

Sam was just focusing on breathing steady, but when Crowley kissed him, Sam looked down in anticipation, frozen. Then the kiss deepened, and Sam's expression opened up. He gaped back on the floor, trying not to let Crowley see. But then Crowley's lips opened up over his head. He lathed his tongue over him, sucking slightly, dipping his tongue into his slit and flicking it back out teasingly.   
It got a surprised tone out of Sam, higher than the others, "Ah!...Crowley." He burst, looked down in confusion and arousal. 

Crowley raised a brow. "Mmm?" He hummed in amused encouragement, slipping the chains up over Sam's length again. He rotated his hands and the links over him, bringing them up and down Sam's length. Sam groaned. Those flicks had his sensitivity mounting, breath catching every time, unable to speak. It was then that the teasing slips of his tongue stopped. Crowley replaced them with suction. Hard. Swirling his tongue around Sam's head entirely, chains and digits still pulling up and over Sam below. All of Sam’s breath melted out of him. Crowley gazed up into Sam's eyes undeterred. His gaze was piercing. 

Sam tossed his hands into his hair to keep from trying to throw Crowley off, groaning through his teeth, "Shit...shit... Crowley!" He couldn't do it. He got up on his elbows, head down, his muscles tensing beyond control. It felt so good that it hurt. Or maybe it was the other way around... Sam couldn't think about that, he had to focus on not coming on the spot, "Crowley..." He whined, half a beg to stop, half to take him in all the way.

Crowley chuckled over Sam's head, the vibrations climbing into the suction over him, making Sam moan desperately. But suddenly… it was over. Crowley popped his head off of Sam's length, but that wasn't the only thing to be removed. In a few strokes of his hands, Crowley was releasing Sam from the construction of those chains, wrapping them instead tightly under Sam's balls, over the base of his length, and doubling, tripling it over. 

Sam panted up at Crowley, watching him do... what the hell was he doing? "What are you..." He gaped. Crowley was tightening the chain, and Sam shifted his feet nervously. This time, Sam's makeshift cock ring was made of iron chain links.

He tried to sit up, to say something else, but Crowley didn’t let him. As soon as the links were in place, Crowley was seating his lips back over Sam's length, sucking him into his mouth, his throat. In one, slick motion, Crowley was swallowing Sam up entirely, adding in the suction like it was nothing. 

"Ohh... f...fuck!" Sam's whole body rolled back on the floor, his hips writhing fruitlessly beneath Crowley's grip, "Fuck!" Sam whimpered, and when he realized his body couldn't come, a guttural groan poured out of him, losing himself entirely in ecstasy.

Crowley's fingers pulsed against Sam's hips, holding him steady. And slowly, Crowley pulled himself back up, eyes closed, sucking all the way up Sam's length like an ice cream bar. Then, his lips were right at the top, he swirled his tongue there lightly, dipping it playfully into the slit there. Sam’s moans turned to whines and whimpers, before Crowley plunged back down on him with a guttural noise that was far from G-rated. Sam groaned. He sucked Sam in again, slipping up and down over his length, slow on the way up, but quick and fast as he plunged his way back down, clawing into his hips hard to keep him steady. They trembled beneath Crowley's grip, squirming and straining in bliss, while those sounds Crowley was making sent endless chills down Sam's spine, "Ah...f...fuck..." Sam whined, his length throbbing, "Yeah... mmn..."

As Crowley pulled up Sam's length again, as he sucked and growled against him, one of the hands that clawed at Sam's hip slipped instead away. And down. The chain tightened the slightest bit more as Crowley's hand worked under Sam's length, finding Sam's balls again. He stroked them softly at first, slightly in time with the efforts of his mouth above. Then suddenly, he was squeezing them, pulsing with each bob of his head. Sam didn't think he could get more pent up. Then Crowley had to go there. 

Sam gaped as Crowley squeezed and pulsed him, feeling his body strain and shudder while Crowley sucked him down. Growling. Oh god, Sam was losing his mind. He could feel himself building and building, with nowhere to go, not with that chain around him. Sam whined desperately, "Crowley... Crowley, please..." He breathed, feeling his balls tighten, his length throbbing to come... But Crowley didn't seem intent on relenting. Instead, he seemed to only pulse a little harder, sucking Sam up and down a little faster. Bobbing up and down at a moderate pace and in a way barely humanly possible with Sam's length and girth filling his throat so fully. As he sucked him down all the way to the base yet again, the hand at Sam's balls didn't pulse, but instead twisted, pulling at them slightly. 

It was at that point that Sam realized he was indeed getting a blowjob from the King of Hell. Sam gasped and panted, voice higher than usual as Crowley overloaded him sensation. He was straining against those chains, that hand tormenting his need to come. And when he realized Crowley wasn't going to listen to him, Sam's pleas turned to curses and groans, unable to do anything but clench his fists and throw his head back, moaning. Slowly, Sam's sounds turned to ones of encouragement, even as his body tried its hardest to fight, even as it became unbearable. 

Quietly, Crowley slipped back up Sam's length, giving a long suck along the way. He popped off, gently stroking the trimmed hair of Sam's testicles. "Oh... Sam... You're so polite, but..." He kissed Sam's length, his lips buzzing as he littered kisses over him. "Darling... you have to ask for it..." He mumbled, giving him a few more kisses. Kissing right over his tip teasingly, humming little noises into him. Right along with a firm, sudden grasp of his balls. 

Sam's breathing went shallow, "Please! Shit... Crowley... let me come." He panted, looking down at him, dark eyes begging.

Crowley smiled up at Sam, his usual smug look positively radiating. As did his voice, a low, warm growl. "Mmm... See Darling?" He buzzed, kissing Sam's tip once more. "That wasn't so hard..." And with that, there was a flash and whirl of hands, and the chains were removed, freeing Sam entirely and making his blood surge. Crowley took Sam's base into his hand, holding him steady as he pressed his lips around his head, then slowly, he swallowed him entirely, all the way to where his hand was. And then back up to Sam's head, giving a good suck, before slamming his mouth back down, swallowing him up again. Bobbing up and down as he stroked Sam's balls with his free hand. Pulsing a squeeze with every quickening suck. 

Sam's breathing quickened immediately, and he exclaimed a groan, his whole body seizing up, "Shit...shit! Ah! I'm gunna come!" He whined, grasping at the concrete floor, legs straining, spread around Crowley. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, fuck, Crowley was going to suck his soul out of his dick.

Immediately after that proclamation, Crowley doubled his efforts, letting his hand smooth over Sam's hips so he could plunge down over his length another time and swallow him entirely, buzzing low, throaty noises against him. And all in the same, he gave a half-hearted squeeze to Sam's balls: this one was a full grasp, almost enough to hurt, but just enough to encourage Sam to release. 

With a powerful groan, Sam's body erupted in Crowley's mouth, that strong grasp and buzzing swallow doing him in instantly. Sam shouted in ecstasy, gasping and panting as his hips shook, coming so hard he nearly whited out on the floor. Oh but it was good. It was so good...

Crowley kept Sam seated in his throat, eyes closed, expression unchanging as the other man came down his throat. He waited for him to finish, pulsing his grip against Sam's balls as he spasmed. 

Moments went by. 

Crowley slipped his hand up, gently grasping at Sam's base as slowly, he inched Sam's length out of his mouth. He let Sam's spent member drop against his stomach. He ran a finger below his bottom lip, wiping his mouth as he rose gracefully to his feet. Though he still stood between Sam's legs. 

Sam’s head fell back against the floor and his eyes drooped closed. Panting, gasping, his whole body was ringing... ringing... and then... nothing. Sam's body relaxed. Crowley stared down at him curiously, a grin on his lips. Speaking no words, he raised an eyebrow, studying Sam closely in the sweet bliss of his post-orgasm. 

And when Sam looked back up at Crowley... it wasn't Sam anymore.

Sam's eyes, flushed and dark, bore into Crowley's, expression deeply confused, breathless, "What are you doing to Sam?" Sam's voice asked, deep, collected, concerned...

Crowley's self-assured grin fell. In its place was an absolute void of amusement. An eyebrow perked up. "... Gadreel." He finally greeted, stuffing his hands coolly into the pockets of his coat. "It's a real pleasure seeing you around... Just about as much fun as a vasectomy without anesthesia." He huffed, his air completely changed, like he was meeting the invasive angel on the street rather than inside of his playmate. And just as they were beginning to have a little fun. "What brings you barreling down from heaven? I thought that the big amusement park in the sky was open again for winged creatures of all varieties without any unfair discrimination. You know," his smile was forced. "Other than the usual."

Gadreel was too distracted by his surroundings and the state of Sam's body to notice Crowley's displeasure at seeing him. But upon hearing that news, his gaze perked up to Crowley's, "Heaven is open?" He realized, thinking hard. It looked taxing, "Castiel... must've killed Metatron." He spoke aloud, the closest thing to a smile that had ever been on his face breezing over his lips.

"Something like that. Sure," Crowley answered, brushing off the angel's assumption. "Now that we've covered that base, why don't you answer my question? Why. Are you here?" He lifted his arm, gesturing at Sam's body. "And possessing Moose again, no less. Couldn't you see that we were busy?" 

Gadreel seemed to have spent quite some time considering that, himself, "When I broke Heaven's jail to free Castiel, I must have rebounded into Sam's body." He muttered, more to himself than Crowley, "I should have died." His eyes moved back to Crowley's, as if remembering why he was there. Slowly, he got up on his feet. He towered over Crowley menacingly, completely, buck naked, "Until I am healed, I cannot leave this body." He eyed him dangerously, "So what are you doing to Sam?"

For the first time, Crowley stepped back a foot, a disgusted expression on his face. "How inconvenient..." He muttered to himself, but instantly he recovered, standing a new ground in front of the awkwardly naked Gadreel. "Well. I'll have you know that he and I were having a discussion of sorts. We were just about finished when you butted in-- and I had a snappy one liner picked out for the occasion and everything... You're really got to work on your timing." He sighed, staring down at Sam's body for a moment. His eyes snapped back up. "And if you're going to be possessing the big guy for a little while, it may be in your best interest to raid his panties and try on a few pairs. Humans don't like it very much when you terrorize the public in your birthday suit, if you remember."

Gadreel's brow came together in confusion, "This is the second time that you've made Sam's body contort like this. What kind of conversation does that?" He queried, "If you are hurting Sam in any way..."

"The second time?" Crowley caught, eyes narrowing as he stared the angel down. "... So. You've been in there for a little while, then." He raised his head, staring down his nose in realization. "... You've been watching. Hm... Angels really are voyeurs." 

Gadreel raised an eyebrow flatly, "I do not know what you mean."

"Aw... you can't tell me you don't understand..." Crowley stalked that step closer again, unbothered by his need to look up to stare the Sam vessel in the eye. "Angels are idiots, yes, but they're not that idiotic." Crowley rolled his eyes, stalking away in a predatory half circle. "Haven't you had the chance to watch any bit of humanity while you were locked in that cage up there? Humans have been breeding and procreating century upon century... You've had to have had the opportunity to watch at least once." He shrugged. "Or twice."

"You and Sam..." Gabriel considered it, "Cannot breed." He eyed Crowley, taking a step forward and mirroring Crowley's stalk around him, "So what... are you doing to him?"

Crowley couldn't help the wandering eyes that followed Sam's hulking form, which was looking... oddly elegant the way Gadreel paraded him around. Like the Moose had taken etiquette lessons from an Elk. He stopped where he was standing, chuckling at Gadreel's comment. "Before we ask any further questions, let's think about this for a moment: I. Am the King of Sin. If Sam were curious enough to explore that sin, and I rejected him..." A mock look of concern crossed over his expression. "Well.. I would be rejecting my duties, wouldn't I? And please," He sighed, waving his hand casually. "Don't tell me I have to explain the idea of 'out of wedlock' to you. You were the one who let the serpent in, correct? I should think you'd be quite familiar with sin." He tilted his head respectfully. "...Good going, by the way. I am a fan of your work." 

Sam's jaw tightened, eyes following Crowley predatorily, "Fine." He hesitated, "But be warned. If you injure Sam, you will have to answer to me."

Crowley's brows jumped up in intrigue. "Mmm..." He growled playfully. "Very well... If that time does come, I will be expecting to see you." He leaned towards the other man slightly. "Don't go standing me up now."

Gadreel stared him down curiously. He didn't say another word, except, "Do not tell him I'm here." And that was it. Sam was falling on his ass in the next second, gasping like he'd come out of water. Or just come, period.

"What..." He scrambled onto his elbows, staring up at Crowley like he'd just seen a ghost, "Oh my g..." Sam breathed, the post-orgasm just hitting him. He sat up like he was drugged, running his hands through his hair, and apparently chalking whatever weird experience he'd just had to be part of the orgasm, "What did you do to me?" He groaned, his body ringing in a satisfaction that echoed in his voice.

Crowley didn't let the shift faze him at all. He simply looked Sam over for a few moments, then responded, as cool as ever. "... It's called an orgasm, Sam." He muttered confidently. "Wow. I don't feel it often, but pity strikes me if I'm talking to the man who's never had a proper one before."

Sam glared at Crowley from the floor. He didn't bother with a formal shut up though, he was still trying to collect himself, "Where are my clothes?" He sat up straight, looking around. He spotted his things and made to grab them.

"Sam," Crowley interrupted the man's path, stopping him before he could grab for his clothing. 

Sam pulled his hand back, glancing at Crowley apprehensively, "What?"

Crowley didn't respond immediately. Instead, he seemed to examine Sam closely, his eyes narrowing. Finally, though, his grin returned, small, but sinister. He spoke clearly, but his voice was low and suggestive: "... Come back any time." 

Sam's lips tightened, his pleasure high fading fast. He looked away, back at his clothes, as he got dressed.

Only Crowley didn't make another comment as Sam dressed. He watched, he observed closely, in fact, not hiding the devilish glint in his eyes as he observed every line and stark curve of Sam's body be covered up yet again. Even when he'd finished dressing, he didn't say anything. He didn't even move from his spot, his hands still coolly in his pockets. 

Somehow, that made Sam feel even more unnerved. He got dressed with his back towards Crowley, except when he couldn't find his belt and had to pick it up at Crowley's feet. He clicked his belt back into place, facing away from Crowley, everything put back in order. Well, almost. He turned towards Crowley awkwardly, "I'm going to try and get a lead on my brother." He told him, trying to get back to business. But damn, his balls were still tingling... he resisted to urge to readjust them, "When I get back," He cleared his throat, "I want to know everything you know about the mark of Cain. Understood?" He eyed him, waiting for a yes.

Crowley stood, completely unmoved. He wore the same expression as Sam spoke to him. And he still wore it when he finished. He answered coolly. "... Understood," He echoed. And while he stopped talking, he was far from done. The rest he communicated with his eyes. They flashed warm, then hot, picking Sam apart and taking those clothes right off his back again. 

Sam sucked in a breath, not realizing he was doing it. Fuck. He tore his eyes away from Crowley, practically feeling those fiery eyes all over him, turned on his heel and left. The metal door shut solidly behind him, locking in place.

Crowley watched the door for a moment after Sam left. And after he felt that Sam had moved away and he wouldn't be returning in the near future... he let his grin drop like the flick of a switch. Slowly, his eyes narrowed. 

He didn't sit back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who will be the winner in the Winchester race to full-on penetration?? We may have a frontrunner, (backrunner?) ladies and... probably more ladies. 
> 
> Sam's sarasaurusrex is laughing maniacally as Dean's VanillaMelancholia is in bitchface mode at that realization.
> 
> FUTURE UPDATES TO DETERMINE. THE RACE MOVES FORWARD...
> 
> (Thanks to those who stay for the finish line!)


	6. Dean and Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel travel to a prison to investigate the case. But Dean is bad at feelings (especially demonic ones), and Castiel doesn’t understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the views, kudos, and comments! The two of us are happy that this fic, and the RP it stems from, are turning out well. All the support is appreciated. :)
> 
> Now, on to the hopeless Dean and clueless Cas!

"What do you mean you don't have doubles?" 

"I mean, I don't have doubles." The man behind the counter, a gruff, gray haired man in his late fifties, responded easily. "You're lucky to get a room at all this weekend. There's one of them... convention things just down the road. All the hotels are booked solid. It's some sort of miracle we have a room open at all right now."

Dean released a long, exhausted breath then slammed his credit card down on the table. "I'll take it!"

The guy didn't give him half a look until he swiped the card. "Thank you for your business... Mister Lee."

A few minutes later, and Dean was stomping outside to the impala and grabbing his bag. "Cas," he began, passing by his window. "Come on... we've got a room."

Castiel noticed some tension, but followed Dean anyway. He got out of the car, shutting the door behind him, following him to the entrance, "Would you like me to carry that for you?" He offered dutifully.

That confused Dean. He stopped walking for a moment, trying to decide what that meant. "Oh," he realized, slinging his bag further over his shoulder. "Nah... I've got it." 

Just a few more doors down and a staircase up, and they were reaching their room. A turn of a key later, and the door was opened to quite the cramped arrangement. A simple, small TV, a sink, a two-foot door in the corner to what must have been a tiny bathroom... and a bed. One bed. It wasn't even a Queen. "... Dammit." Dean murmured. Castiel stood by the door once they were inside, seemingly noticing that this was a very small room and opting to watch Dean from there.

Dean dropped his bag on the tiny bed, zipping it open and searching through its contents. They'd figure out the sleep thing later. For now, "I'm gonna get changed. Jail's only a couple miles from here, so we should be able to hit it up right after their lunch break."

Castiel nodded seriously at Dean's game plan, watching him get his things, "I'll wait here."

Dean nodded, too. "Great." He answered, grabbing a pile of neatly folded clothes out of his bag. He looked up to Cas, as if he were going to say something else or continue the conversation --because he felt like he should for some reason... But he turned his back, heading to the small bathroom door instead. 

He came back out in a button-down shirt and slacks a couple minutes later, hanging his suit jacket over the door knob to the bathroom. He turned up his collar, beginning to carefully tie his red and blue striped tie. A couple moments went by. He'd nearly finished tying before he said anything. "... You got the pancake box out of the Impala, right?" He asked somewhat casually, turning his collar down and straightening his tie. 

Castiel eyed Dean in that suit. His brow came together curiously. He opened his mouth to answer that question, but... no. No he hadn't taken the box out of the impala. He cleared his throat, "One moment." He mumbled resignedly. And in the blink of an eye, he was... still standing there.

Castiel looked around, perplexed. Then, back at Dean, "I'll... go do that." He adverted his eyes, taking an awkward step towards the door to walk to the car.

Dean wasn't really paying attention, but he couldn't help but catch something in Castiel’s voice. His hands stopped their arranging, his brow jumping up. What was up with Cas? 

Grabbing his jacket, he turned, throwing it on quickly. With a short visit to his bag for one more thing, he was out the door, locking it behind him. "Hey, Cas," he called, looking down towards the Impala from where he stood on the second story balcony. 

Castiel was half in the car, grabbing his box from the seat, "Ye..." He made to respond, but as he pulled himself back out, he hit his head against the roof of the car. Castiel growled a sigh, pulling himself back out gingerly, "Yes, Dean?" He rubbed the back of his head, squinting up at Dean from afar.

For some reason, seeing Cas hit his head like that... Dean smiled. Cas wasn't acting weird at all. "... Nothing." He answered, leaning back from the balcony to walk smoothly towards the stairs. "Let's get going." 

"Alright." Castiel muttered, still rubbing his head. He dropped the box into a nearby trashcan outside then got back into the car.

The door slammed behind Dean as well, and with the roar of the engine, the two were heading back out on the road. 

\---

"Agents Lee and Hawkins, here to see the warden about the recent inmate death." Dean flipped open his fake badge, showing the man behind the reception desk-- paired with his best I'm-here-on-business look. 

The man looked up from his papers, blinking slowly as he looked over Dean's badge. Without even a word, he pointed at Castiel. 

Still staring at the man, subtly, Dean elbowed Cas in the side. 

Castiel's eyebrows raised slightly, and he lifted the arm already holding his fake badge, staring expectantly at the man.

The man looked over Castiel's badge silently. Then, he pressed a button, leaning over to talk into a speaker. "Warden Davis, Feds are here. Should I send them in?" There was some silence. The man at the desk looked up at Dean, staring him in the eye. 

Dean shifted, running his hands over his suit jacket and dropping his gaze to the floor. He cleared his throat awkwardly, then he gave a tight smile. 

The man just blinked back. A slow, quiet blink. 

'Yep, go ahead. I've got some free time.'

The man dropped his gaze finally, shifting it towards a door just to his left. He pointed. "He's right through there." He looked back to Dean. "Go ahead."

Dean sighed quietly. "Sure. Yeah, thanks. We'll be right in there." One more flash of a fake smile, then he was walking heavily towards the door, smile falling and his eyes growing large. "Jeeze, that guy must have... low blood sugar or something. Creepy."

Castiel was stuffing his badge back into his pocket, "How can you tell?" He looked up at Dean, impressed.

Dean blinked, giving a sideways glance at Castiel. "Just... Nevermind." He muttered, turning the door handle. 

"Hello, gentlemen," the warden greeted, standing up from his desk. He was a smiley man, dark brown hair peppered with grey and just the slightest bit overweight. He extended his hand to Dean. "My name's Davis. I'm the warden of this here jail."

Dean took his hand, shaking cordially. "Special Agent Lee. And this is my partner, Special Agent Hawkins." He nodded to Castiel. 

"Agent Lee. Agent Hawkins." He nodded back, sitting back down. "Nice to meet you two. Take a seat."

Dean nodded, feeling a little better in this man's presence. Now he was an official. "Thanks."

"Now... what can I do for you boys?" 

Castiel glanced over at Dean from his seat, then, "We'd... like to know more about the prisoner found... slaughtered, in his cell." He said, clearing his throat a few times, but otherwise sounding perfectly human.

Dean snuck a look at Cas, brows jumping up subtly in surprise. Huh. That.. wasn't bad. "Yeah," Dean added from his own seat, leaning back a bit comfortably. "What can you tell us about the investigation so far?"

"Well," the warden sat forward, not too surprised. "The inmate in question was Kyle Thompson. He was killed in his cell on the 17th. Right about now, that's all we know. Security tapes didn't catch anything, no one coming in or out."

"Couldn't it have been suicide? What makes your boys think it was murder?" Dean asked.

"Suicide?" The warden laughed. "No... I'm pretty sure that was ruled out as soon as we saw the body."

"... Why's that?"

"He was stabbed in the chest." 

Dean waited curiously. He quirked an eyebrow. 

The warden leaned in. "He was stabbed in the chest... 37 times."

Dean blinked, leaning back in his own chair. "... Oh." It sunk in. He smiled awkwardly. "Well... that would do it." 

Castiel's eyes followed the warden, narrowing in the slightest, "And the murder weapon?"

"A sharpened toothbrush. It was left right next to his body in the cell. It's still at the lab right now, forensics hasn't gotten back to us yet. There's a bit of a pile up there, and this case... isn't exactly priority, despite the high profile victim." 

"High profile, huh?" Dean tilted his head. "Remind me again, I... didn't get to reading the paperwork on the way here."

The warden looked surprised. "... Kyle Thompson. You know..." He looked between the two. "... Alleged serial murderer. He was taken into custody last year, only the trial was botched. Just recently," he sighed. "Some key evidence was taken out of the case because it was... acquired illegally." He shook his head. "But if you ask me, the man was guilty as hell, and most of the public shares my opinion. But he was going to be released on the 18th."

"The day after he was murdered." Dean pieced together. 

"Yep," the warden affirmed. "So it seems to me it wasn't only the public that thought this guy deserved to be locked up. Somebody on the inside did this..." He shook his head. "And the investigation is well on its way to getting cold." 

Castiel's brow came together, "I... do not understand. If the victim was so... high profile... why is the investigation not a priority?"

"Well..." The warden began again, trying to search for the words. "I know it's not... professional, but I think the majority of the case workers are hoping it goes cold. This guy..." He paused, his voice lower when he resumed. "And you didn't hear this from me, but... he raped and killed six young women, no matter how the trial concluded. Maybe more. And he was about to be released... It's no skin off the anyone's nose now that he's dead."

"Yeah... I understand you there." Dean answered. He climbed to his feet with a huff. "Well, warden, would you mind letting us look around his cell for a little while? Maybe we'll find something the cops missed."

"Go ahead," Davis answered. "An extra pair of eyes couldn't hurt. And honestly..." He stood up, leaning forward on his desk to look between both Castiel and Dean, very serious. "You two boys might just be the only ones left looking for whoever killed that son of a bitch. So watch your backs out there," he darkened. "... You might meet with some resistance."

Castiel seemed unsatisfied, but he got up with Dean, following him out of the office in silence.

As they closed the door behind them and made their way back towards the main desk, the man behind it seemed to have another guest. A man in a blue uniform and hat, and a canvas bag marked by a large navy USPS logo on the side. The two men were smiling and going back in forth in conversation. 

"So how's Jake doing with his, uh..."

"Better. The rehab didn't do much, but he swears he had this dream... Really set him straight."

"Dream, huh? What kind of--"

"Excuse us, ladies." Dean butted in, interrupting the mail carrier and walking right up to the desk guy, a tight smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Warden says we can look around Thompson's cell. Would you mind... buzzing us in?" 

The man's smile immediately fell. He stared at Dean for a good five seconds before slowly reaching down and pressing a button. A door just behind the desk began to buzz. "... Cell 25-C... I'll let them know you're coming."

"Great." Dean said, walking around the desk with Castiel.

"Morning," The mail guy greeted. But the desk guy just watched them silently, the loud buzzing echoing through the cement room as his eyes followed them all the way through the door, never letting them out of his sight. It closed behind them.

"Seriously!" Dean burst, walking down the sectioned off hall, getting out his badge to show yet another guard who came to greet them. "That guy... Creepy."

"Dean." Castiel practically interrupted him, "Does this place feel... odd to you?" He asked just out of earshot of the man at the front desk.

"Hm?" Dean hummed, sticking his badge back into the inside pocket of his suit coat. He blinked a little, following the guard who was now leading them. "Well... I guess... Yeah," He answered, falling back to Castiel's side, and with his voice low, he hoped he was out of earshot of the man leading them. "... Why, Cas? You... picking something else up?" Dean did have to admit.. the place did seem a little off. He just didn't quite know how. 

Castiel sighed, "I don't know." He eyed the men around them wearily, "I think they're hiding something."

Dean's eyes narrowed. He straightened up again, his senses on high alert as he followed the guard before him... Cas was probably right.

Another buzzer sounded as the guard took them through another door and further into the prison. When they entered, a long line of cells were on either side, some with men in them, others unoccupied. It was the afternoon, so many prisoners may have been outside in the yard or otherwise occupied in the jail. But a couple more steps down the row, and the guard was stopping at one of the empty ones. It had tape on the lock: Sealed Crime Scene. The guard removed it, opening the cell and sliding the door aside with a heavy metallic clang. "Here you go. Just come get me when you two are done. I'll be right down the hall." 

"Yeah. Thanks," Dean said, waving the guard off.

The cell was clean. It looked like every other cell they'd walked by, except for the exceptionally dark round stain of blood in what must have been the exact center of the cell. Dean leaned down, inspecting it. He ran his finger along the outside of the stain. "... Hm." He buzzed. Nothing looked out of place. It didn't even smell weird. He stood up, picking up the flat pillow on the mattress, sticking his head in the sink, inspecting the mirror and small row of empty shelves on the wall. Nothing. Nothing was an understatement. 

"So... what do you think?" He asked Castiel, turning on his heel. "I don't see any way anything could have gotten in... So, best guess... Spirit?" 

If possible, Castiel seemed even more unsatisfied. He stood in the middle of the cell, just shy of the bloodstain. He was silent.

Without even answering Dean's question, Castiel was gone, moving back into the hallway and looking around purposefully. He strode over to the cell opposite the crime scene and walked right up to the bars, "Hey. You." He called to the inmate inside.

The man seemed flighty. His head snapped up from what he was doing... which seemed to be just holding his hands together. Maybe he was praying. "... Y...yes?" He answered, not moving from where he was on the bed.

"C-... Ah, Hawkins? What's up?" Dean called from inside the other cell, carefully walking towards Castiel. 

"Were you in this cell on the night of the 17th?" Castiel questioned, indifferent to Dean's call.

"The 17th...? I, uh--" The man snapped his gaze back to his hands, a shiver going down his spine. "I... I already gave my statement. I don't need... I don't need another... raid.. of my cell. Or more time... I don't need … any more drugs."

Dean caught on quick to what sort of lead Castiel had found. He walked up to the bars, too. "Hey! Don't be like that. Tell us what you saw." He barked, leaning his arm on the iron bars. His hand brushed against them. After a quick moment, he drew it away like he'd just brushed against a hot stove. His eyes shifted to Castiel. Casually, he crossed his arms. Shit. Iron. He had to be careful around here.

Luckily, Castiel didn't seem to notice. His eyes were trained on the man behind the bars, "Did anything enter that cell when Kyle Thompson was murdered?"

The man blinked at Castiel. Then he blinked at Dean. His eyes went to the floor. Quietly, he shook his head. He was visibly shaking now, tremors moving through him as the look of fear widened in his eyes.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "... What did you see?" He repeated. 

The man remained silent, shaking. 

Castiel turned to Dean, talking to him closely, "Dean, he saw something. We need to know what." He silently urged him.

Dean didn't seem to acknowledge Castiel. Instead, he stared down that inmate, an annoyance bubbling up in him quickly. One that turned to anger before long. "Tell us. What the hell you saw." Dean said again, this time, his tone a threatening one. 

The inmate's shivering died down, but it didn't stop. He stayed silent. 

Castiel looked back at the inmate, and realized something. He put a hand on Dean's chest, pushing him back gently to look at the inmate one-on-one, "No more drugs." He held up his hands. "Look, see?" He tried to catch his eye, even ducking his head down a bit, "We know what you saw wasn't human. Tell us what it was, and you won't be questioned again."

The inmate was silent for a few more moments, but he looked at Castiel. He sucked in a breath, releasing it slowly. "I... uh.." He trailed off, silent again.

"Dammit! Just tell us what you fucking saw already! The act isn't cute." Dean yelled, practically jumping at the bars as a burst of anger gripped him out of nowhere. 

The prisoner cowered, snapping his eyes right back to his feet. A guard down the hall picked his head up, looking out at what was going on. 

Castiel's eyes flashed to Dean. He threw his hand back up to Dean's chest, this time, pushing him back and keeping it there, using good old fashioned angel strength, "Dean." He moved into his face, thin lipped and deathly serious, "If you don't calm down, we'll get kicked out of here and he won't tell us anything." Castiel reprimanded.

Dean was in the mood to resist, and when he felt that hand on him, he nearly did, pushing back with what was starting to become a formidable strength of his own. He felt it pulse in him, but he stopped himself just in time. Castiel's tone was like a bucket of ice water. Dean blinked, looking around. He caught the eyes of the guard, still watching them. "... Fine." He huffed. He looked at Castiel in that moment, whatever caused that anger still bubbling in him. But with Castiel then so close, it was suddenly turning around. It was becoming another strong, heated emotion. 

... Shit. 

Dean turned his back, taking a step away from Castiel. "Just.. yeah. Ask him again.” He breathed, closing his eyes. And for a second, he really considered just taking that iron bar into his hand, just so he could focus on the pain instead of... whatever. 

Castiel exhaled, removing his hand from Dean's chest before turning back to the cell. He got close again, this time, voice hardly above a whisper, "Tell me what it was... you saw."

The inmate looked confused, a little torn between just staying quiet or relenting. He sighed. "...I... I saw Thompson do it... I saw him... stab himself." He answered, his voice small. "Over.. and over... and over... just... standing there. Stabbing himself... Then," He blinked, pulling his hands apart. "... He dropped."

Dean had pulled himself together enough to hear what the guy had said. He looked over his shoulder, brows lowered curiously. 

Castiel's brow came together. He leaned back, glancing at Dean, "How is that possible?"

Dean was still looking at the prisoner. This guy wasn't lying. "... Cas," He began, his voice still possessing a bit of force behind it. "... We've got to go." And without anymore introduction, Dean was walking back down the hall, right past the guard, who he waved at dismissively.

Castiel almost did a double take before following after Dean in a hurry, "Dean!" He called after him, catching up, "Where are we going?"

"Motel." He answered, very serious as the guard he'd waved at began buzzing them through the doors of the prison. "We've got to talk this out." 

That... didn't answer any of Castiel's now mounting questions. Nevertheless, he followed Dean back outside and into the Impala, remaining silent all the way back to the motel.

\---

The door to their room flew open, and Dean immediately shrugged off his suit coat, throwing it on the bed. ".... We can't rule it out, can we?" He asked Castiel, not explaining himself as he continued to pace around the room. He loosened his tie jolt by jolt, and soon, it was joining the coat on the bed. He looked a little discombobulated. 

Castiel eyed Dean in concern as he stripped, closing the motel door behind him. He watched the jacket fly to the floor, then the tie... "Dean."

"What?" He answered, turning towards Castiel, his shirt already halfway unbuttoned. He looked down at himself. He shrugged his shoulders, willing the shirt halves back together.

... He was acting weird.

"It's... agh... Sorry, Cas," He answered, shaking his head, laughing casually. "I'm just.. a little weird right now. That's all... " He blinked. How unbelievable was he...? "Shit, look, let's... Let's get some food or something. I think I'm a little cranky from not eating. We... we skipped lunch." He could play it off that way.

He certainly wasn't going to tell Castiel that he was concerned that this was a demonic possession, because it sure as hell sounded like one. He wasn't going to tell him that, if this was a demon, it was probably going to do that word vomit thing that demons do. That it was probably going to tell Castiel that Dean wasn't human anymore.

He wasn't going to tell him that. 

He smiled at Cas awkwardly. 

Castiel took a step towards him, effectively preventing him from doing anything in the small hotel room, "Dean." He rasped, studying him seriously, "You left in the middle of a case. As long as I've known you, you've never left in the middle of a case. You've never wanted to do anything but solve a case when times get rough." He eyed him, unrelenting, "Talk." It wasn't a question.

Dean looked Castiel over, a little tingle going through him. Shit. Now that was happening again. Like he needed another reason to hate being a demon. "... It's nothing, really." He assured, finally pulling himself together again. Maybe even starting to feel like himself again. He returned to unbuttoning his shirt, tucking it out of his pants once it was completely undone. He glanced at the clock. "Come on, it's 6:30. Let's go grab some food, then we can come right back and go over what we found out today. It's probably staring us right in the face what this thing is..." He forced a laugh, distancing himself from Castiel's questioning. 

Castiel cocked his head slightly, eyes narrow, but he seemed to give up for the time being. He forgot how needy humans were. He sighed, internally rolling his eyes, "Alright, Dean." But he wasn't convinced. If anything, he was just more perplexed. 

The tension which had been collecting itself in Dean's body released. "Great." He responded, flinging his shirt off of his shoulders and adding it to his impromptu pile... which he looked down at with a sudden realization. Shit. He did not want to iron that. "So we'll... run out as soon as I'm changed." He said, bending over to collect his things. He found a few hangers in the hatbox of a closet, and hung up each item carefully, toeing off his shoes in the process. He slipped his belt out of his pants, reaching for the zipper. Then he realized it wasn't just his brother in the room with him. He was about to ask if Castiel cared if he stripped to his underwear in front of him... when, hell... he remembered it was Cas. With a shrug of his shoulders, he let his pants hit the floor, picking them up and carefully hanging them over another hanger in the closet. 

Castiel hadn't moved an inch. Nor had he said anything else. He just stood there, idly watching Dean, looking a little lost, actually.

As soon as Dean had slid his dress shoes into the closet with the rest of his clothing, he shut the door, turning around to face Castiel. Dean didn't give it another thought, passing him by as he crossed to the chair he'd thrown his bag on. Well... he didn't give it another thought... after he had a crazy thought somewhere along the lines of ‘I like Cas looking at me in my underwear.’

...

What?

Dean blinked, turning his back to Castiel as he sorted though his clothing, looking them over. And sorting them through.. and looking-- Why the hell was he taking so long to decide?

He pulled out a pair of dark wash jeans and pulled them on almost violently, zipping and belting them like some sort of race. Soon after that, he was donning a T-shirt and light, canvas jacket, toeing into the other shoes he'd kept by the door. "Let's go," He said, almost angry as he transferred his wallet over to these other pants. Almost.

Castiel's stare had gone from lost to very, very perplexed. He sighed internally, following Dean outside.

\---

During the meal, Castiel didn't say much. And Dean didn't either. He ordered the burger, Cas didn't order anything, and for some reason, it really hurt going down. Which didn't make sense. Dean didn't have to worry about indigestion or anything. But half way through the meal, he figured it out. 

Salt. The burger, the fries, the ketchup... all of them were loaded with salt. 

Not enough to really hurt him, but it was a little uncomfortable. He didn't finish his meal (the meal he didn't need to eat). Half eaten, he left it and paid, staying silent on the short ride back to the motel. 

Once the door to their room opened, Dean was groaning silently to himself, holding his stomach as he flopped on the bed. Normally, he'd just take a pepto and sit down for a while, but he was just going to need to wait this pain out, wasn't he? That sucked. He sighed into the pillow. Dammit. 

Castiel didn't make the salt connection, all he saw was Dean acting very strangely for about the hundredth time that day. So he decided to sit on the end of the bed.

The bed compressed gently at Dean's feet, and after a moment, Castiel's raspy voice broke the silence, "Dean. Would you like to talk now?"

Castiel's question was met with a low, dissatisfied moan, muffled by a cheap pillow. A few moments later, and Dean was turning onto his side so he could at least look like he was attempting a conversation. ".. There's nothing to talk about," he mumbled, kicking off his shoes and discarding his jacket somewhere on the floor. "I'm just... I've just got indigestion is all. Nothing big." He lied. That was getting easier.

"I meant... about the case." Castiel looked at him peculiarly, his suspicions mounting, "Now that you've eaten..."

"... Right." Dean muttered. He was hoping Castiel had forgotten. He was silent, closing his eyes. For a little while, he was hoping that maybe he'd passed himself off for falling asleep. He could stay still for a while. But minutes later, he sighed. "... What do you think about it?" He asked softly, curling into the fetal position as he waited out what he hoped were the final pangs of his pain. 

"Well... maybe it could still be a spirit. Maybe one you nor I have encountered before..." He looked at Dean gently, "Maybe it's a... demonic possession, or... witchcraft." He offered.

"I didn't find any hex bags," Dean responded. "And they search those places real good. They probably would have mentioned if they found a bag of chicken bones." That was one response. Now he had to respond to the other two possibilities. He had to. He wanted to work a case, any case... just maybe not this one. In order to keep working it… 

He had to work himself into denial. It wasn't a demon. "... We'll check evidence in the morning. And..." He breathed. ".. We’ll want to go back to the jail and search surveillance tapes, too..." His voice went quiet. "... We could have missed something there."

Castiel nodded thoughtfully, "Right." Then, "What should we do until then?"

"We could..." Dean's eyes bugged. He had to get his mind out of the gutter. He tossed back over on his stomach. "... Let's just stay in for the night. I'm... not feeling too hot." He said to the pillow, closing his eyes hard. 

The room was silent. After a moment, Castiel's weight was shifting off of the bed so lightly it might've been a bird taking flight.

And then, he was sitting by Dean's head.

A hand reached down into the pillows and cupped itself firmly over Dean's forehead.

Dean balled his hands into fists, his body tensing. "... Shit," He whispered accidentally. He squeezed his eyes hard. He tried to ignore just how nice that touch felt. Skin on skin... He was craving that contact. He was craving any contact at all. He tried to calm his breathing. It wasn't working.

Castiel's eyes glanced over Dean as he tensed, looking... confused. He kept his hand there, a raspy, hesitant voice working through the silence of the room, "...Is this helping?" He mumbled, like a child who'd seen his mother do the same thing when his siblings were sick, but had no idea why.

Cas...

"... Not... really," Dean mumbled, forcing himself to get the words out. It took an amazing amount of discipline. Dean had no idea demons were this... horny. Or maybe it was just Dean. Whatever. He couldn't even admit to himself what he wanted from that touch. He shifted beneath it, the pain in his stomach gone or forgotten. He couldn't tell which. 

Castiel blinked. Then, resignedly, pulled his hand back. He sat there on the edge of the bed with Dean, half looking at him, half looking at the sheets, a silent guardian, sitting close enough to share the warmth of Dean's side, "What do... humans do, when they're sick?" He asked, lost, like he'd failed his mission. Or maybe he was just scared... either way, his wings draped gently over the bed behind him, and Dean, doing so without a conscious thought in his head.

Dean didn't quite know how to answer. He was lost. He wasn't really sick. His demon body was reacting to salt like overactive stomach acids. That, and he was dealing with... Cas.. being so... 

He felt a brush against him. It didn't really feel like a hand, or... anything else he'd ever felt before, really. But it was gentle, and slight, and he barely felt it. But it was there, like a warmth. He couldn't really explain it any other way. And hell... it calmed him a little.

"... Well. When we get sick, I guess we... lay down for a while. And we sleep..." Dean began, his words breathed like relief he hadn't even realized had manifested. He smiled, rearranging by tucking his arm up and beneath his pillow. "And if we're lucky enough to have someone to take care of us, they bring us.. chicken soup. And we eat it while watching old Cheers reruns." He laughed, feeling himself getting a little nostalgic. Nostalgic for regular old, nasty colds. How sad was that?

"I see." Castiel considered it, "Then... perhaps you should sleep." He said, watching him silently, "I'll wait here, if you'd like."

"Uh..." Sleep? Dean considered it. If he were human, he would. But last night proved that forcing himself to sleep now that he really didn't need it, that was near impossible. But... "...Sure." He answered. Because what the hell else could he say to make Cas get off his case? ...And for Cas feel better. That was important, too. 

Castiel didn't respond, he merely sat where he was against Dean, unmoving. 

Minutes passed. Or at least it felt like minutes. Maybe it was seconds? Dean really couldn't tell. What was Cas doing? He'd expected an answer. "Uh... Cas?" He mumbled, peeking his head up in a bit of confusion. 

Castiel looked down at him, "Yes, Dean?"

"Ah...." Dean didn't know what he wanted to accomplish by getting Castiel's attention like this. He blinked, confused at himself. In a surprisingly swift motion (for a supposed sick guy), he sat up. He felt that odd warmth leave him. He furrowed his brows. Aw. "I'm... just..." He blinked, pulling off his shirt and avoiding eye contact with Castiel. "... getting comfortable..." His hands paused over his belt line, eyes bugging. He looked at Castiel, hoping he wouldn't notice.

Castiel seemed to realize what he was doing and looked away awkwardly. He cleared his throat.

Dean had no idea what that meant. With a huff, Dean decided to forget it. He stood up, his belt clinking as he unfastened and shucked his pants to the floor, pulling off his socks as he climbed back into the bed in his boxers. He shifted in under the covers, holding them high as he tried to arrange his legs, first accidentally kicking Castiel. Castiel glanced over his shoulder at the kick, but realized it was unintentional and looked away again. Finally finding his way under the sheets, Dean breathed in... then he breathed out in a halfway defeated sigh, laying on his stomach and denying the fact that he was a quarter of the way to Stiffysville. He turned his head to the side, crossing his arms beneath his face. "... Uh, Cas?" He mumbled awkwardly. "... You can look... “ He was secure enough in the fact that he was halfway covered by those crappy hotel blankets. 

Castiel seemed to be lost in thought until Dean called him back. He turned halfway towards him. He wondered if the Mark of Cain was still there. No, Dean wasn't feeling well. They could talk about that later.

He didn't see it, but Dean was sure that Castiel was looking back at him again. And... that kinda made everything all right. He sighed. He closed his eyes... 

He wasn't going to drift off, but it would make Castiel feel better to know he was resting. Besides, just laying there, not thinking, just enjoying the cool side of the pillow while it lasted... It wasn't all bad. Cas's company alone wasn't all bad. 

Castiel sat there, unmoving, watching over Dean until his breathing slowed and Castiel was convinced he was asleep. And then, he waited a little longer.

After an hour or so, Castiel's weight moved again. This time, it disappeared from the room altogether. It was silent, like an owl taking flight. Unnoticeable to a sleeping person.

But Dean wasn't asleep. He'd reached some sort of pleasant meditation or something. He'd never done it before, but it was the nearest thing he could think to compare it to. But the moment his environment changed, when Castiel moved, he noticed it. Dean opened his eyes.

Cas was gone. 

Dean could feel him in the room before in a way he never quite could when he was human. And it wasn't there anymore. Dean sat up, looking around. And sure enough, his eyes confirmed what he'd felt. Dean stood up. 

He looked in the closet. He looked in the small bathroom. He opened the door and looked both ways outside. Nothing. He breathed, the latch of the door clicking as it locked up behind him. He set his hand on his forehead as he walked back to the bed. He sat himself down heavily. Where was that angel? He couldn't do this without Cas. Despite needing to pretend to do a lot of things he didn't find himself particularly caring for anymore, Cas just meant too much. 

Um. No, Cas... Cas was just going to make sure Dean didn't do something he'd hate himself for. He was going to watch out for him. That's what. 

He slumped back on the bed, pulling the covers up over his hips and moving his hands behind his head. So why did he feel so much like shit now that he was gone? 

All too soon into Dean's mental pout, he felt him again. Castiel had returned. He nearly sighed in relief, but quicker than that, he relaxed his expression again, feigning sleep. 

When Castiel saw Dean still sleeping on his back, he exhaled gently, then reached over and turned the lights off. He returned to Dean's side just as silently as he left, looking him over, deep in thought. His eyes traced over the lingering mark on Dean's forearm, and then, so did his hand. His touch was softer than silk, almost inhuman. He sighed again, like he'd failed his job, and quietly pressed his lips to the crest of Dean's forehead. It wasn't so much as kiss as he was gently leaning on him, certain no human could feel such angelic touches.

That soft touch felt nice. Hm. So did the-- kiss? 

Shit. Had Castiel just kissed him? 

Dean peeked his eyes open at Castiel as he sat straight beside him again, and Dean felt a warmth come over him. That really nice warmth from before. He couldn't help the instinctual reaction that followed, a rush of heat, his breath beginning to pick up. Well, damn, he wasn't sure whether he was more confused or more---more turned on. He wanted to speak, to do something, but he was frozen in that moment, trying to pass it off as a crazily vivid hallucination or demonic daydream. 

But Castiel was very real, sitting beside him on the bed. He sat like a statue, watching the glow of the moon through cheap hotel curtains. Beside the door, sitting on the floor, was a white, plastic bag.

Dean noticed it. His eyes went there next, then they flashed right back to Castiel. "...Cas," he muttered unconsciously before his voice got stuck in his throat. Shit. His voice. He slammed his eyes shut, trying to retain the guise of sleep, his brow still lowered in confusion. 

Castiel's gaze moved to Dean, not sure if he was awake or asleep. His expression looked like he was dreaming... about Castiel? Castiel's brow came together, tilting his head slightly. He leaned over him, enough to tell him he was there if Dean was awake.

Dean could tell. Oh, yeah. Dean could definitely tell that Castiel was right. There. Over him. Just... He could feel his breath, Oh... "... Fuck," He cursed quietly, barely registering that he'd said anything again until it was too late. His brow came together even more. Shit shit shit...

Castiel's head tilted the other way.

"Dean." He said flatly, voice quiet.

Dean didn't respond for a few moments, his brow twitching with the effort of keeping his eyes closed. Maybe if he just... stayed still...

Fuck it. "...Hey." He eked, opening one eye to squint up at Castiel like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

Castiel's eyebrows raised slightly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." He leaned back a bit.

"Ah..." Dean opened his eyes entirely, shifting his hands out from beneath his head. "It's... it's cool. Um..." Dean couldn't really figure out the words from there. Mostly he just wanted to... not speak. His body was pushing him, making him want to do and submit to things he barely even imagined before, and certainly not in a serious light. 

But something was bothering him more than anything else. And it was something he needed to voice. "... Cas? Um, did you...?"

His eyes widened, realizing what he was about to say. Of course not. Of course Castiel hadn't done that. "... Never mind." He mumbled, turning away from Castiel to lay on his side, closing his eyes again. 

Castiel was back to looking confused. "Did what, Dean?" He pursued him.

"It's nothing." Dean answered quickly. He gave his best yawn, grabbing the covers and pulling them up over his shoulders. "Night, Cas." 

Castiel eyed him with a sigh, "Goodnight, Dean." He replied, looking back to the window. But suddenly, he gave a cough. He put a fist up to his mouth to conceal it, looking at the floor.

Dean found himself going from wishing to Castiel would back off, to feeling concern ebb up within him. He rolled back over. "... Hey," He muttered, looking Castiel over. "... Are you all right?" That wasn't the first time he'd heard the angel cough. Angels didn't just cough.

Castiel nodded, swallowing down another cough. "Yes, I'm fine." He rasped, not looking Dean in the eye.

Dean pulled himself up to sit, catching Castiel’s gaze. Something was definitely up. He'd noticed it earlier, too, he just didn't want to push and feel like a hypocrite. And he still didn't want to, but... Damn. It was hard looking at Castiel like that. Unsure of what else to do, he pulled himself a little closer. "It's, um..." He pressed his hand down on Castiel's back, smoothing it out over the course fabric of the trench coat there. "... You're good, Cas..." He forced a smile. "...You're good." 

Castiel wasn't sure what Dean was doing, but when he put his hand on his back, he relaxed a little. He gave another small cough into his fist, but that was it. He cleared his throat and glanced over at him, "...Thank you." He murmured. The wings on either side of Dean's hand even stretched a little. It felt... good.

"Uh... Yeah." Dean's smile became a little less forced as Castiel responded that way. And half of it was due to that warmth of Castiel's, the one he was just discovering. It was there again, shifting away and back into focus as he stroked his back. And with a little further inspection, Dean had a suspicion he knew what that mysterious warmth was. A transparent morph of shadow was sprouting out of Castiel's back in two places on either side of Dean's hand. He stared. 

Those... were Cas's wings, weren't they? 

They certainly had the shape of them. They looked large, but the shadow was only partially visible, like the wing was fading out of existence just after it started suggesting a shape... 

Wow... Dean was starting to see them. He shifted his eyes right back to that spot between the wings, focusing a little more on it as he channeled his awe into his smile, trying not to look conspicuous. This was kind of awesome.

Luckily, Castiel didn't seem to notice. His eyes had closed when Dean focused his attentions there, giving a small, considering hum, almost inaudible. His wings even shivered a little, opening up around Dean.

Dean's eyes snapped casually back to the wings. He smiled a little wider. Man, he wanted to see if he could touch them.

But that would be too much. He had a suspicion this was starting to happen for him due to a certain... supernatural development. He sighed quietly, giving a gentle pat where he'd been stroking before drawing his hand away. "... Cas," He mumbled, pulling the sheets back over himself as he arranged back against the pillows. He patted the space between he and Castiel with one strong hit. "Lay down. Maybe we both need a good rest." Hell, if angels and demons could eat if they wanted to... maybe they could sleep under the right circumstances, too.

Castiel looked a little taken aback when Dean called his name. But then, he was telling him to lay down... so Castiel did. He settled down beside Dean, his wings folding in beneath his back. He felt like he'd had a good massage. It was... weird. He looked at Dean, the effect having some mysterious soothing ability, and soon he was looking back at that window, the moonlight shining through the curtain, "Goodnight, Dean." He repeated, a little more thankful than before.

"Night, Cas." Dean couldn't help but notice that shift in Castiel's tone. And it made him feel better, too. Whatever weird identity crisis he was going through was forgotten. He closed his eyes, smiling to himself. Maybe he wouldn't sleep, but you know what? He was rejuvenated enough as it was. He was ready for this case to continue. 

He could take on whatever it was... Demon or not.


	7. Sam and Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds a way to bribe Crowley... and Crowley makes the best of a tight situation.

Sam hadn't slept at all the previous night. His mind kept telling him to take a break, get some sleep, but he couldn't do it. No matter how many times he told himself he was in control of the situation, all he'd see were those demon's eyes staring back at him, smiling at him. He had no way of contacting his brother, the Impala tracks just vanished, and on top of it all, he felt like he was losing time again.

All things considered, he felt great. Better physically than he had in a while. In fact, after every fifteen minute lapse or so, he'd feel perfectly rested again. Maybe he was just... dozing off. So instead of resting or eating or showering, he worked out. Crowley could wait down there all week if Sam wanted him to.

Before he knew it, night had fallen, and Sam didn't really have a week. He needed to help his brother. And as much as he liked to believe he was in control, he was beginning to feel like he was stalling. He did another ten reps, adding two more weights than normal, then drank two bottles of water and ate a granola bar. Dean would've probably mocked him for eating something with a green label and the word "chia" on the wrapper (after brutally murdering the pronunciation of chia, of course), Sam thought fondly. He wiped the sweat from his brow, got changed, and went downstairs.

Despite his adrenaline, testosterone fuelled determination, Sam found himself waiting for a moment by the door, trying to reach Castiel once more.

No luck.

Sam took a deep, hard breath and unlocked the door. He opened it, letting it swing closed behind him with a loud clang as he observed Crowley, the King of Hell, trapped behind his storage room.

Crowley, who'd been standing just behind the chair in the middle of the trap, smiled as Sam appeared. "Hello, darling." He cooed, leaning casually on the back of the chair. "Miss me?"

Sam frowned. He stared Crowley down, then grabbed a metal chair from the workbench and sat in it, facing Crowley. He didn't say a word. He was there for the Mark of Cain.

Crowley raised a brow. "... Nothing to say?" He said, standing up straight again. "Funny... you were very vocal the last time I saw you."

Though hardly possible, Sam seemed to frown even more, "We had a deal." He cleared his throat. Shit, he hadn't spoken since that morning. He leaned forward slightly, issuing a single warning, "Talk."

"About what?”  
  
“About our agreement.”

“I don't believe we actually agreed upon anything, Sam." Crowley responded casually, tracing the cool, metal backing of his own chair with the tips of his fingers. "You approached me with a deal, I considered it... I propositioned you instead, and as two, entirely well-meaning and consenting adults, I choked down your cock and swallowed your cum." Crowley let his hand drop, slipping it into his pocket instead. "The only verbal agreement of any kind that we reached was discussed somewhere in the upper register. If you had neighbors, they could attest to that."

Sam eyed Crowley tensely. He wasn't sitting for long, "No." He rose slowly, gesturing to him, "No... I said if I... if we..." He was stumbling for words he was so mad, so... ashamed.

"Yes, Sam. You said." Crowley confirmed. "But... what did I say, Sam?"

Sam tore his gaze away, racking his brain. Not because he was trying to remember what Crowley had said, but trying to figure out how he could've been so stupid.  
When he looked back up at Crowley, there was fire in his eyes, "Fine. Fine..." He almost laughed. He turned away from Crowley, towards the workbench.

No more games. No more tricks.

Sam took a large blade from the workbench.

Crowley looked at the blade, visibly impressed. "Oo... bringing out the special equipment now, are we? How exciting," He said, tilting his head. "I don't meet many humans who are into knife play."

Sam moved back to face Crowley, that fire burning high. And in a clean, swift wipe, he cut down his own forearm, leaving a trail of blood to trickle openly down his skin.  
"You think I wouldn't notice what you were doing?" He breathed, tilting his head to show Crowley the bite on his ear, the bite that had been bleeding in front of the mirror after Sam's workout. He eyed Crowley incredulously, "You tell me where Cain is, what the Mark does, and how to get rid of it... and..." He held his arm out for Crowley to smell, "...I'm yours." He eyed him dangerously, the hesitancy in his voice masked by a near rebellious streak of desperation. His brother had sold his soul for him, died for him, what was Sam if he couldn't do this? What did Sam even have left to lose?

Crowley’s expression was frozen in a near-scowl. He was still. Entirely. The only thing that moved was his eyes... right down to that dripping wound. He shivered.

"Sam..." He said after several too-long ticks of the clock. But that was it. His eyes peeled away from the blood, staring him dead in the eye. His blithe air had disappeared.

Sam smirked inwardly. He had him.  
  
"Make the deal, Crowley, or I leave." He muttered, "I'm not offering it twice." He put his arm down so Crowley couldn't see the wound anymore, although the scent of his blood was still fresh in the air. Even Sam could smell it, mixed in with his own sweat.

Crowley's eyes narrowed. "...Sam," He repeated, this time his voice stronger. "You have no idea what you're doing here."

"My brother is out there... raised from the dead... too afraid to come home... and I'm sitting here doing nothing!" He roared, "That's what I'm doing, Crowley!" He glared, "I would make a deal with a hundred punk ass crossroads demons to understand what the Hell is going on!" He clenched his fists, blood dripping down his palm and onto the floor, "Do we have a deal, or not?" He trembled, "My blood, for your cooperation. I don't care how long it takes."

Crowley seemed unmoved. Several long, long seconds ticked by before finally, he spoke. "... I can't offer you instant information in this matter, Sam." He answered. "You've caught the wrong informant. You do know that, don't you?" He let his hand fall from his pocket, his stance rooting firmly. “And the most I can offer you certainly can't be done while I’m still stuck inside of this bloody trap."

Sam scoffed, "You want me to just set you free?" He repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. He was beginning to feel sharp prickles of pain from his forearm, but he didn't care.

Crowley caught Sam's eyes, seeming to breathe for the first time in minutes. "Pretty please?"

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing, "Yeah!" He huffed a laugh, "Because I'm sure you'll just skip back here when you're done."

Crowley didn't look amused. His expression had gone back to something very serious. "... Your blood for Dean Winchester's location. I'll make that deal, Sam." He didn't blink. "I may be the King of Hell, but I have integrity. I don't go back on my word."

Sam paused. Dean's location? He could get him that? But... Dean said to let him go. Sam wanted that; he wanted to let him live his own life and be happy, but this wasn't a Dean-found-a-way-out-of-hunting kind of scenario, this was a Dean-thinks-he-has-no-where-to-go scenario, and Sam needed to show him that that wasn't true. So no, he wouldn't let Dean go. Not until he knew the truth.

"Fine." Sam huffed, hoping he was doing the right thing, "It's a deal."

Crowley smiled, his eyes darkening. "Lovely." He purred. "Now," He lifted his arms, the chain linking his wrists clinking in protest. "How about you help me slip into something more comfortable?"

Sam eyed Crowley, as if deciphering a riddle, but finally, he went back to the worktable. He set the blade down, picking up a small key. With one last glance at it, he turned back around.

Sam walked to the edge of the Devil's Trap, staring hard at Crowley before he stepped inside. He grabbed the chain connecting Crowley's handcuffs with his bleeding arm, putting the key in lock with his other. It clicked.

Crowley's eyes closed as he listened to the musical clicks of those locks, then watched as they fell off his wrists and into Sam's pocket. He looked up at Sam, eyeing him in the space they shared. Finally, after several moments more, his brows rose expectantly. "... And the trap?"

Sam sighed internally, then took a step back and pulled out a pocket knife. He knelt down, and with the small blade of his knife, scrapped away at a piece of the paint on the floor, cancelling out the trap.

By the time Sam looked up again, the trap was empty. Crowley was gone.

Sam sighed, wiping a hand down his face. This was... the right thing to do, right?  
Sam stood up, looking around in resignation. Finally, he left the room, locking the door behind him.

Maybe he'd work out some more.

"Sam," A familiar voice called from inside a doorway just behind him on his pathway. It was Crowley, staring the Winchester down like he was a cut of prime seared steak. He leaned on the doorframe. "... Would you like any help with that reckless wound of yours?"

Sam turned in the dimly lit hall in surprise, "That was quick." He muttered aloud. He'd clamped a hand over the wound as he walked, and he kept it there as he faced Crowley, "Where is he?" He ignored Crowley's generous offer.

"I ... don't have that information. Yet," Crowley revealed while observing the beds of his nails. "But I've sent word down the line to my networks of informants here on the surface. Eyes and ears are spreading themselves out everywhere as we speak, all of them looking for our escapee Winchester. I estimate I'll have that location for you..." He looked at his watch. "... in no more than seventy-two hours."

"Seventy-two hours?" Sam repeated. He didn't think it’d take that long. What... what was he going to do for three days? Sam sighed, annoyed, "And your... demon buddies will leave him alone, right?" He clarified. He didn't want any of this falling back onto Dean. He had enough to worry about. That and... If Dean knew Sam was looking for him, he might go even deeper into hiding.

"Dean Winchester will be returned to you in the same condition that he left," Crowley confirmed, a smile pulling at his features. "Guaranteed."

Sam wasn't sure he liked that answer. "Just... don't hurt him." He said, "And don't let him know I'm looking for him." He said again, absent-mindedly wiping some of the blood onto his clothes before re-cupping the wound. "Okay?"

Crowley's eyes darted to the newly bloodstained spot on Sam's clothing. Then he smiled, business, and a little something more, glinting in his expression. "Wouldn't dream of it, darling." He shifted where he stood, straightening up in the doorway. "Now, how about we talk bonuses for you..." He slipped a syringe out of his back pocket, holding it up for Sam to see. "...in exchange for just a little upfront on that blood promise?"

Sam tilted his head dangerously, ignoring the jolt he got seeing that syringe. That was fear, right? What was wrong with him?

"I don't want anything else from you." He said firmly... then swallowed.

"Aww, sweetie... Don't be like that," Crowley cooed, stepping closer and entering Sam's personal space. "You know you kept me around for more than just your brother's benefit. It was for you, too." He touched the pads of his fingers down to Sam's arm, sliding them in subtle circles over the skin there. "... You can't say you weren't jumping at the opportunity earlier. When you weren't even careful enough to have my word before slamming into my throat. You wanted it."

Sam shoved Crowley back, "Shut up." He muttered. But, he realized Crowley wasn't in a Devil's Trap anymore. Something cold snuck down his spine, but Sam knew it wasn't fear this time... "You tricked me..." He breathed angrily, embarrassed, "And I'm..." He scoffed, "I'm not making that mistake again." He towered over him, but it didn't make him feel any better. He wanted...

Shit...

"If I'd wanted to trick you, I would have been much more inventive the second go around," Crowley responded, dusting himself off. He reconnected his eyes with Sam's. "In reality, you were just... ecstatic to receive a reason to let me taste you... Well," He turned his back, looking over his shoulder at Sam. "I'll give you that same out again, Samantha. And you don't even need to say anything this time..." Slowly, he began walking into the room. It was still dark. "... Just follow me."

Sam let out a breath, the same breath he'd been about to use to refute the name ‘Samantha’ with, but then it came out in a nervous, overly controlled huff. Sam's eyes flashed up to the dark room. Did Crowley just walk through a vortex? Sam couldn't think. He shut his eyes.

Crowley wanted his blood. That's all this was about. Sam was in a control here, not Crowley.

So why couldn't Sam walk away? He'd tried about six times, but it just looked like he was bumping into barriers. He was fighting a losing battle, and it was with his own body. His cut stung, but damn it if that didn't make him feel alive.

Was he really going to whore himself out to the King of Hell for Dean? No. He couldn't put this on Dean. If Sam was going to do this --- no, try this --- it would be of his own volition.

Before Sam realized what he was doing, he was stepping into the vortex.

The darkness was all consuming. Even several steps in, it just continued on, unbroken. Finally, something happened. Hands were on Sam, pushing him down into something soft, it creaked. Suddenly, a dim, flickering light surrounded Sam all at once. What had at first seemed to be a vortex was, in fact, just a dark room. And not just any room, but one look around would reveal it to belong not to Sam, but Dean. Classic cars and rock band swag dotted the walls. And between mounted guns, machetes and Metallica gear, were dozens of flickering candles.

But perhaps more pressing was the sinfully sneering demon pressing Sam into the surface of Dean's bed. "Glad to see you could make it," Crowley purred into Sam's ear, running his fingers though his hair. And as he pressed closer, it became all-too-quickly apparent that Sam had undergone some sort of wardrobe change unbeknownst to him. He was shirtless, stripped, and in the place of his pants, nothing but a pair of unforgiving, bare-it-all leather chaps. And one brush of Crowley’s clothed hips against Sam's nude sex would make it abundantly clear that Sam’s undergarments were not in the picture. Before Sam could say much at all, Crowley was pressing their lips together in a forceful kiss.

Sam grabbed onto Crowley's arms, gasping into the kiss. Not because he was caught off guard, but because he hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath in shock for the past ten seconds. Being human, air was very important. However, the fact that his nether regions were getting a lot of it at the moment wasn't his main concern: "Mmno... this is Dean's room!" He husked, as if it were (ironically) some sort of holy ground. He was panting in shock, his body going surprisingly hard, surprisingly fast as it took in its surroundings. "Shit." He breathed.

Crowley didn't seem fazed at all. He let Sam have his air, planting a few, curious kisses into the side of his neck, nipping playfully, making Sam gape. "Don't worry about it, darling..." He muttered quietly into his skin. "It's already set up, just enjoy the ride..." His kisses trailed lower, over Sam's shoulder, over his arm. Soon, Crowley was kissing at Sam's open wound, letting the blood settle over his lips. Sam’s teeth came together in a hiss. But… it was healing. However, when he picked his head up again, the sting of Sam's wound was gone. "Let Daddy tap that vein later, Samantha... in the proper way." He muttered, licking his lips as he slid his hand over the hard, muscled plane of Sam's chest.

Sam stared wide-eyed down Crowley, somehow managing to blurt out, "It's Sam."

It was then that Sam realized that Crowley had taken one of his hands. His resistance faded, curious to see what Crowley was doing.

Crowley grinned, transferring something from between his fingers over to Sam's instead. It was cool and round. And soon, Crowley was positioning Sam's hand and the object right at the sensitive tip of Sam's length. "I brought you a present," Crowley cooed as he guided Sam's digits to pull the object down over the hunter's semi-hard length. Sam's breath caught in his throat when he realized what he was holding, what he was putting on... In no time, Crowley had encouraged Sam's hands to push it down to his base, gently squeezing his balls through one at a time once it was there. Sam let his head fall back, swallowing a groan. Crowley sat up just enough to see for himself. It was a beautiful, metal cock ring. "Mmm..." He growled with arousal somewhere deep in his throat. "You wear this... so well, Sam."

"Shut up." He got out. He shifted in his chaps, but it just made his dick harder. He could feel the metal against his skin, Crowley's weight. Shit...

"So feisty." Crowley chuckled, giving his thigh a slap, the sound of which echoed sharply through the room. "Daddy likes." Before Sam could get anything else out, Crowley was crawling back up his chest, nipping a sharp little trail up his skin. Sam's indignant breaths were audible as Crowley nipped up his chest, but the sound he made when Crowley got to his nipples was far from indignant. Crowley sucked one into his mouth softly before tracing it with his tongue.

Sam gave a small groan-sigh that barely made it past his lips, and he dipped his head to prevent it from happening again. Or maybe... to feel Crowley's mouth more. He had a really nice...no.

Crowley continued his attentions at Sam's sounds, letting his hands explore and trace the shapes of Sam's body while his mouth continued its work. As he sucked, his fingers traced Sam's shoulders, as he licked, they ventured over his abdomen, and as a soft, playful nip touched down, Sam made that sound again. The rest of his body melted and lit up beneath those fingers as they traced Sam's hips. They circled around the gradually heating metal of the ring around Sam's cock. Crowley buzzed curiously against Sam's chest, letting his fingers again return beside his mouth. They circled around Sam's forgotten nipple, giving an inch of space on all sides, just far enough not to accidentally scrape against it. Another nip against Sam's other nipple. And the fingers of his opposite hand mirrored the gesture, pinching Sam's skin sharply in that not-quite-touching circle he teased around it.

Sam huffed out a breath of air, "Ah!" He would've sounded annoyed if it weren't for the breathy tone to his voice, or the way his legs opened the slightest bit. He made a frustrated noise at how fast the sensations were going to his dick.

"Have you ever explored this sensation before, Sam?" Crowley asked, his breath humid against Sam's chest as he nipped again, same place. Still neglecting Sam's other nipple entirely. His finger continued to trace wide circles around it, drawing attention to, but otherwise ignoring. Crowley kissed the same side as always, sucking him in the post-sensitivity of that nip. "You seem to be enjoying it..." Another nip. Same side. He'd not so much as touched Sam's other side the whole time.

Sam bit back another gasp, and shuddered. He wasn't sure how to answer that question. But then, "Not that hard." He got out, although it was unclear if that was a direction or an answer. Either way, he was definitely enjoying it. He couldn't look at Crowley.

Crowley chuckled into Sam's chest, the light vibrations tickling him there. "...Well. We'll have to fix that. Shall we?" As the rhetorical question hung in the air, there came a slight jingle off to their left. Soon, a tiny, metal clamp was biting into the hardened flesh of Sam's forgotten nipple.

Sam gasped at the cold metal biting into such a sensitive area, the action getting a reflexive, "What the Hell is that?" out of him. He looked down, then at Crowley, then swallowed.

Crowley chuckled. "Shh... Relax, darling..." Crowley cooed, running his thumb over the saliva coating Sam's other nipple. Then, another clamp, biting down into the sensitive flesh of that one, too. Crowley took another look at his work, considering it. The forced-hard buds connected by the small, silver chain running across the expanse of Sam's chest... "My, my... looks like we're all dressed up now, aren't we, Samantha?" He tilted his head to the side, sliding the flats of his palms up the sides of Sam's torso. And once they were high enough: Snap. Crowley pulled the chain linking Sam's nipples, and it slapped stingingly against Sam's tanned skin.

Oh god, Sam had seen enough porn to know where this was going. Still, he exclaimed in surprised arousal. He dropped his head, gritting the sound down to something not so embarrassing between his teeth. The stinging lapped swiftly down his body, reverberating in that metal ring, "Damnit, Crowley..." He breathed. He was already completely erect.

Crowley took notice. "Hmmm... What?" He hummed, dragging his fingers down Sam's body again as he stooped in for a surprisingly soft kiss, slowing Sam down. "Do you miss it already?" He pulled away, nipping quickly at Sam's bottom lip as he went, making him curse. He picked that chain up between his thumb and forefinger, yanking on it. One pulse, two, three, then he held it taught, pulling on those sensitive buds as he traced a few kisses down Sam's abdomen, flicking his tongue into his navel. Then finally, Crowley snapped it again, letting it slap back down over Sam's skin with a satisfying snap and jingle.

Sam was gasping and cursing Crowley's name by the end of it, his body electrified. He groaned in frustration, shifting in those leather chaps. Fuck, he was horny. And Crowley was only at his bellybutton, which... that felt weird, too. "Crowley..." Sam breathed, sounding more like a beg than he'd care to admit, "Fuck...!" He panted, voice high. He'd never been played like this. It felt incredible...

"Mmmhm..." Crowley buzzed into Sam's skin, still tracing his kisses lower. Soon, he was at Sam's hip, his kisses opening up and infused with nips. He brought them close to Sam's arousal, then, barely, they grazed the ring at the base of him. There was a sharp intake as Crowley pulled in the smell of Sam's musk. He breathed out hot over Sam's straining flesh. "Oo... no shower today? Very nice..." As if to punctuate his statement, Crowley snapped the chain again, using Sam's break in focus to grab one of his hands again.

It worked. Sam was about to comment on Crowley being a sick bastard, but his trembling breath (Crowley was so close to his dick...) came out in a short shout. "Shit!" He barely even registered moving his hand with Crowley's.

"Noisy," Crowley rumbled, amused. In the next moment, he was gripping Sam's hand down over the base of his length, holding it there with his own hand firmly. "Samantha," He murmured, his hot voice gravel and poison. "... Don't. Move. Your hand."

‘Samantha’ peered down at Crowley hazily, "What? Why...?" He breathed. And in that next moment, Crowley was lifting his hand away to pull Sam's legs apart, bending them up at the knees and arranging himself between them. Sam held his dick as his legs bent stiffly for Crowley. Suddenly those chaps felt incredibly exposing, and Sam shifted nervously, forgetting to insist his name was actually a man's.

Crowley looked up, catching Sam's eyes. Suddenly, he was pulling up his body again, his body glancing down over his arousal, and his hips pulled up tight against Sam's exposed backside. Covered by the front panel of Crowley's pressed trousers was the form of something very large, very firm, and it pressed against Sam's ass like a promise as he answered: "... Because I asked you to, darling." His words ghosted over Sam's lips, almost a kiss, but Sam’s hardened expression faltered only slightly as he felt something press against his ass. Crowley was pulling back in the next moment, hiking stiff, leather-covered calves over his shoulders, and groping Sam's ass as he spread him apart. His breath was hot over the ring of newly exposed muscle.

Sam gaped, finding himself in a position he'd never been in before, "Hey, what are you..." Oh god that was Crowley's breath, on his... "Oh my god." Sam husked, grabbing the sheets with one hand, his grip around his length almost faltering.

"Shh..." Crowley breathed against the underside of Sam's ass, kissing the skin just under Sam's balls softly. "Relax, darling..." He purred, massaging the globes of his ass. "... I'm just trying to make you feel good." Sam hardly relaxed. His muscles quivered with a couple more faint kisses, each circling closer and closer to that very exposed part of Sam. Sam’s breathing caught in his throat, his whole narrowing to a spot he didn't know could be erogenous, until he wanted nothing more than to feel Crowley's mouth and tongue there. Finally, Crowley touched down. He kissed that sensitive ring of muscle before opening his mouth up into a lick, letting it linger and circle around. Sam shivered. "Sh...sh...it" He nearly whispered. His legs shook with that lick, and he had to bite back a groan, eyes falling shut. One of Crowley’s hands crawled away, and by that time, it was up at the chain again. He flicked it, getting that groan out of Sam. He'd forgotten all about it. The sensation lit him up all over again. "Move your hand, Moose," Crowley instructed softly before licking Sam again.

Sam did it without thinking about it, not knowing what Crowley was going to do next but wanting it. Fuck.

Crowley growled lightly against Sam there, slowly pulling his hips a little closer as he heard Sam's hand begin to shift. "Good boy..." He whispered, having gotten a little quieter. "Keep touching yourself..." And with one more flick of a lick, he was wriggling his tongue inside of Sam, licking into him gradually.

Sam didn't have to be told, his hand was already moving back down. He stroked himself down to the ring, then back up, slow but firm, and a little shaky. Crowley's tongue was moving inside him. Sam moaned breathlessly, feeling his muscles open up and tremble with every lick and pet. It was the strangest thing he had ever felt in his life, and it was making his length leak in arousal. Sam squeezed over his tip, rubbing himself firmly. His other hand was still gripping the sheets beside his head, muscles trembling. He kept glancing down, like he couldn't believe Crowley tonguing him could make him so horny, but fuck... that was exactly what was going on.

Crowley didn't seem to be bothered by the audience at all. Soon enough, he'd pressed all of what he could of his tongue inside of Sam, licking him, tasting him and working at the tight muscles. His hands were still feeling over Sam's body, one sliding over the shapes of his abdomen, petting his hip gently, and the other continued to massage circles into Sam's ass, holding him open and feeling him all at once. Soon, the movement of Crowley's tongue became more incentivized. He pushed more and more at the walls of Sam's insides, opening him... His tongue pushed up and down, up and down against the muscle there, thrusting into him. Fucking him slowly with his mouth... before growling into him, and thrusting faster, letting his sound reverberate into him.

Sam's head tipped back and he sighed a moan, finding himself rubbing and stroking his length in time with those thrusts. God, it was good. It was so good... those hands on him, the way Crowley had him bent and bare in those chaps, the way he made him buzz with those sounds... "Fuck..." Sam breathed. He wanted to come. His strokes got a little sharper, body moving and sighing with Crowley's rhythm.

Just as Sam's strokes got faster along with the rhythm Crowley had established, Crowley's tongue left him. He gave one more open kiss to Sam's entrance before trailing hot nips out over his ass again. "Samantha," he breathed into his skin. His voice was a growl, deep in his throat with harsh instruction. "Slow down." And just as those words left him, Crowley's other hand was joining the first at Sam's ass. Just as three, saliva-slicked fingers were pressing slowly into him.

"It's S..." Sam had started, slowing down only slightly before Crowley made him groan. He grabbed his dick, unable to otherwise move. Sam had done anal before (with women), and he never started with three. So why did it feel so good, stretching and invading his ass to the point of near pain...? Sam's hand starting going again, slow and hot as his hips tried to writhe but couldn't, knees still hanging over Crowley's shoulders, body bent in the best way.

And the moment that hand started going again, Crowley was curling his fingers up into Sam's inner walls, stretching him even more with slow, invading presses. All the while, he stroked at Sam's hip, pressing calming kisses on the backside of Sam's thigh. "That's it..." He cooed, "You can take so much, darling... You're so greedy, stretching around my fingers so quickly... Stroking your cock... like it's all you've ever wanted... Hm."

Sam couldn't reply. It was like those fingers were in his brain, pushing out his thoughts with each press into his body. And it didn't help that was the moment Sam's body seemed to accept that it had a fetish for Crowley's voice. Sam bit back a groan as Crowley talked to him like that, unable to get a word out as he stroked himself to those fingers, that voice.

Crowley gave a sharp nip to Sam's skin, and just as he did, he was curling his fingers into that spot inside Sam. He pressed into it directly, hard, over-stimulating him with Sam's dick cinched off by that cock ring. And he didn't stop doing it.

Sam shouted. It was a surprised, desperate sound that fell to a loud, shameless moan. "F...fuck!" His whole body jerked, arching his back as he moaned, but he couldn't control himself because Crowley wasn't stopping. "Oh...fuck...fff... yes." Sam whined. His hand had stopped, forced to hold tight around his base as he felt his balls tighten, aching to come. He had half a mind to just take the ring off, but he couldn't. He wanted more. He gave a shuddering moan and fell back against the bed, eyes shut tight. "Fuck, Crowley!" It was a beg, a beg not to stop.

"... What was that?" Crowley hummed, letting his pulses into that spot relent as he tipped his head up at Sam. He feigned disappointment, but the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. "Such naughty language... Bad boy." His fingers stopped all together, going still inside Sam as he leaned up over him. His eyes suddenly flashed with a stern air. "Bad... Drop your cock, Sam," He demanded.

Sam's head was reeling when Crowley's fingers stopped, he could hardly respond, panting against the bed. Finally, feeling a spark of... something... when he saw the look on Crowley's face, he mustered a proud, although utterly disheveled, "Fuck you," still gripping himself tight, as if he was afraid it was the only thing keeping him in control of himself. He felt like he was going to explode if Crowley touched him there again.

"Hey," Crowley growled, leaning in closer. "Stop that." And the hand that was petting him warmly on the hip just moments before picked up, snapping across the side of Sam's engorged length in a slap. Sam exclaimed shortly at that slap, somewhere between discomfort and surprise. "Listen to me, Moose. You do not want to disappoint me when I've got you sprawled out like this." The arousal in his voice had dissipated, a cold threat replacing it instead.

Sam couldn't really move his legs, so he saw no way out of that threat. He moved his hand a few inches, letting go of his length, eying Crowley daringly. Why was this hot? Fuck.

The second Sam let his erection go, Crowley grabbed it instead. He held it firmly. "Sam. This is mine." He growled, ducking in closer to Sam's face, bending him more than was likely comfortable. "And your sounds are mine. When you feel the urge to moan or use profanity so liberally, you must ask for my permission first."

Shit. Was this a joke? Shit shit shit. This was not a joke. Crowley's grip was tightening unbearably, possessively, and for some god-forsaken reason, Sam's arousal hit a new peak.

"Understand?" Crowley’s fingers began to pull out of Sam slowly, threatening to leave unless Sam agreed.

"Yes!" Sam rasped, wincing the more Crowley pushed his flexibility. Shit.

Crowley sat back comfortably between Sam's legs, letting up on his grip. In fact, in that moment, he pushed his fingers back into Sam's body, kneading into that spot inside of him as he once again snapped the chain connecting Sam's nearly forgotten nipples.

It took everything Sam had to not burst into a moan when Crowley kneaded that spot again, adding the chain. He made a strangled sort of whine in his throat, grabbing the sheets desperately as the sensations wracked through his body.

"Good boy..." He purred, dropping a dollop of saliva over the tip of Sam's length. "Now leave that." He muttered. "No touching."

Sam gasped, merely gripping the sheets tighter.

Crowley growled an aroused purr when Sam obeyed, twisting his fingers inside of him as he continued to knead against his prostate. Crowley's saliva continued to slide down the side of Sam's length, completely undisturbed. Sam was controlling himself.

Suddenly, with one more long, powerful knead, Crowley was drawing his fingers out of Sam, leaving him panting. But a warm hand relaxed him, placed over Sam's stomach, petting the soft trail of hair there in gentle strokes. "That's a good boy..." Crowley hummed, his other hand reaching for Sam's arm. It dragged over the still-wet flesh where Sam's wound had been minutes prior, collecting the remaining blood there. A zipper sounded. Some rustling.

"Now, darling..." Crowley's murmurs resumed, a hand touching Sam's again. Sam watched hazily as Crowley maneuvered about him. Crowley guided Sam’s hand to grip around the base of his own dick, which Sam did with more need than curiosity. As Crowley pulled his hand away from it, his fingers had left a smear of blood over Sam's length and fingers. "... Keep your hand right here for me, and move it when you need to." His voice was contradictory in its tone: silky sex and gruff instruction. But it moved over Sam in that moment like a confident song.

Crowley's voice was washing over him in ways he'd never admit, going right to his dick. He didn't even know what the Hell Crowley was saying, except, he felt like he was being seduced, in a way that he'd only ever felt from the other side, the one pressing in.

"It can be a little... overwhelming... the first time you feel me." Crowley smiled.

Oh. Shit. Crowley was pressing in.

And, right on cue, there was a slight pressure at the cleft of Sam's ass, hot as it teased the entrance to his body, not quite breaching. It was slick with Crowley's saliva and Sam's own blood.

"Crow...Crowley..." He breathed desperately, "D...do it." He wanted him to do it, and do it fast, so he didn't have to think, so he could let the ache in his gut take over, legs bent and ankles hanging over Crowley's shoulders in utter submission.

"Ah, ah, ah..." Crowley tsked, pausing a moment to unfasten the first few buttons on his shirt, undoing his tie in a quick slip of silk. "No comments from you." And with a swift, precise motion, Crowley was rolling his tie up and stuffing it firmly into Sam's mouth. While with a quick flip of his finger, Sam's unoccupied hand was being thrown up above him and held there by some invisible force. Sam's eyes (and stuffed mouth) flashed up to his arm in an instant. "Daddy's got lead here, darling." And with the commentary hushed and Sam otherwise taken care of, Crowley gripped hard over Sam's hips, and slowly, he pressed his arousal past the tight ring of muscle at Sam's entrance, filling him gradually, and completely.

Sam watched in wide-eyed shock as he couldn't move, couldn't do anything but feel that thick heat filling him in, and then his eyes slammed shut, his whole body shuddering with a muffled, "Oh my god...!" Sam groaned, hard, his voice cut off by that tie, which he was suddenly grateful for. He wouldn't have been able to keep quiet if he'd bet his soul on it. It felt like Crowley was splitting him in half, and he was practically shouting in guttural, overwhelmed ecstasy.

When Crowley was in him completely and Sam's whole body was heaving in its bonds, his sounds fell to pants and whines, begging Crowley wordlessly not to stop. He couldn't do it, he couldn't keep quiet. It was too much.

Crowley's eyes closed after he'd buried himself completely. Subtly, he rocked his head back, sighing though his nose. "Samm..." He hissed. "You... are just as tight as you look." A few moments ticked by. He returned his gaze to Sam below him, his lips turning up in a slow, satisfied smile. He'd glanced over Sam's hand, still bound tight around the base of his own cock, unmoved. Soon, that same unseen force that had Sam's hand trapped above his head was moving Sam's legs further apart, spreading them off Crowley's shoulders, as Crowley himself leaned down over his body. Sam groaned, eyes fluttered shut. He’d never been in so deep before, never like this, and it felt so good it hurt. Crowley’s hands smoothed out over Sam's hips, slipping up his chest while leaving subtle streaks of blood in their wake. He snapped the chain of the nipple clamps, taking another pull of breath from Sam. His whole body lit up, tightening around Crowley… Fuck, that was Crowley inside of him. Sam had let himself be dominated by sexual partners in the past for fun, but this was a whole new realm. And when Crowley grasped Sam's shoulders, finally beginning to move, Sam released all that anticipation and arousal, moaning shamelessly.

He could feel Crowley so heavily in him, filling to the brim, and for a flash of a moment, he recalled what Crowley had sold his soul for as a human, and groaned.

Each stroke was purposeful and hard, each just barely grazing that spot inside Sam, each just enough to tease, but not satisfy. They made Sam’s body tighten up, then melt with each tight rub into that spot. Crowley was teasing and taking, and feeling Sam's straining length rub against him with each pass.

Sam’s breath hitched, releasing it in a pent up moan, "Crwlee...pleese..." He begged him, feeling Crowley's three extra inches sliding in and out of his ass, just grazing that spot torturously.

The responding thrust was sharp and hard, and with it, Crowley stopped moving. "Hm... Those sounded like words.." He muttered, his breath picked up just the slightest. He gave another, single sharp stab into Sam's body. "You ask for those. Remember? But... since I can't hear you too well now..." He moved his finger, and Sam’s hand on his cock slammed out to the side of him instead, the arm held frozen from the wrist up to the shoulder. "You tap that hand twice for me to ask from now on. Otherwise, this..." Another thrust, sharp again, completely moved away from Sam's prostate. "... This is all for me." He smiled. "Tap once if you understand, darling."

Sam groaned, his brain melting as Crowley rendered him immobile. He clenched his fist, chest heaving, and finally, he tapped the bed once.

"Good boy." Crowley breathed. And with that response in, he was thrusting into Sam in the next moment, every one trained right past his prostate, Crowley gripping Sam's erection firmly.

Sam sighed a groan through the material of the tie. It tasted like Crowley. He tipped his head back, body breathing with each brush past that spot. It was so good, yet not nearly enough, and Crowley's grip around his length only reminded him of that aching fact. Soon, Sam's body was trembling with desire, his length throbbing in Crowley's grip. He couldn't take it. He didn't have enough to pride to deny what Crowley was giving him, and in a moment of weakness, he tapped the bed twice.

Crowley didn't bother stopping that time. He continued thrusting into Sam, his breathing measured as he growled his response. "Good Samantha..." He began, smiling as he continued. "You may moan... my name only." He gripped harder over Sam's hip, keeping his grip on Sam's erection still as he stared down into his expression with every solid thrum into Sam's hips.

No. He needed Crowley to stop calling him Samantha. He needed him to hit his prostate. Crowley was still teasing him, working him over, and Sam was losing his mind. He stared right back at Crowley, until the pressure he was putting on his body was too much and Sam moaned his name anyway, eyes closing. He gripped the sheets, hips shaking, desperate to come through that ring. He needed more.

Crowley buzzed when he heard the muffled consonants of his name moaned into his tie. He hummed happily. And instead of a vocal praise, that time, Crowley's reward to Sam was more physical. With a shift of his hips, he was sending the force of his thrusts--all of them-- to press right into Sam's prostate. And while his hand slipped by, he tugged on the saliva-soaked tie, removing it from Sam's mouth to discard it on the bed. "What was that, darling?" He said, his voice heated. "I want to hear you." And with his grip over Sam's length firm, Crowley pulled up, stroking him with every press into his sweet spot.

Sam gasped out of the tie, just in time for his lungs to explode when Crowley finally hit that spot and stroked him. He cried out, breath hard and hot as his balls tightened, back arching powerfully. If it weren't for the ring, he'd have come right there. But instead his whole body was tingling, shocks of ecstasy pulsing through him with each overwhelming thrust and stroke, until he was shouting out his pleasure in a broken cry, "Yeah, yeah! Ah! F... Crowley!" He moaned, his release starting to build up unbearably around that ring.

"Oh... that's so good, love..." Crowley hummed back in appeased praise. His voice was hot and dark, but low in his throat. Its low, reverberant purr barely crawled over the occasional fleshy slaps sounding the curved rounds of Sam's backside. "I love hearing your voice call my name... as I pound so deep into your little virgin ass... " He pulled up a little slower on Sam's length that time, swirling the beaded precum at its tip around in circles. His thrusts continued, unstopped, still all aimed right into Sam's pleasure zone. "... You're so hard for me. Oh... you like it when I stretch your hole... my cock inside you. You just can't wait... until I fill you up... Can you?" He pulled over Sam's length again, dropping down to give a tight squeeze to his balls. "Tell me you can't wait, Sam... until I'm filling your tight little virgin ass... with my cum..."

Sam's head was spinning, turned on beyond belief by those filthy words in that gravel tone. It was pure sex. The groan it pulled out of him was feral, submissive, twisting when Crowley swirled him and grabbed his balls. Fuck, he was going the come. Sam arched hungrily on Crowley's cock, feeling Crowley squeeze his building release until he was delirious, squeezing Crowley's cock in response, "Fill me up." He breathed, "Oh, shit. Crowley, please! I can't wait.." He groaned, a submissive high washing over him.

"That's right, Samantha..." Crowley hissed as Sam squeezed him, his low purr transforming into a raw growl. "You can't come until my hot cum is inside you, filling you... Isn't that right?" His hand pulled up and over Sam's length, getting quicker, before dropping off completely, stopping just to hold him up around his base. The thrusts into his prostate became less direct, too, just dully sliding past the area, grazing him more subtly. "Samantha.... you're so good... but you need to tell me what it is you want.. exactly. Where do you want it?" He leaned into him, bouncing Sam's hips, his whole body, with a single, sharp hit into that sweet spot. "And what do you want to fill you?"

No. No, he couldn't stop. Sam was so close. He cried out when Crowley bounced into him, groaning in realization of how bad he wanted it. He didn't care what he was saying anymore, or how true it was... "F...! Fill me with your cum..." He husked, "Ah... please... want it in my ass. Crowley... come in my ass..." He moaned.

Crowley grunted, appeased. "Good boy..." He praised. And with it, Crowley was immediately reinvigorating his thrusts into Sam, directly, hard into the bump of his prostate. His hand was gripping over Sam's arousal again, pulling up and down over his length quickly, pumping him... Sam groaned. He was going to come; he couldn’t stop it. But then, he felt something he'd never felt before that suspended him on the edge in sheer shock.

Those hard thrusts into Sam soon pressed past his pleasure zone for just a moment, slowing just the slightest as, with a satisfied, low hum... Crowley came hot and raw inside of Sam. Sam's muscles went lax in surprise as he felt the warmth of Crowley's seed invade deep into his body, and it was the single most erotic thing he'd ever felt in his life. Crowley was filling him, emptying himself with continued thrusts. Thrusts that were trained right back at that sweet spot while Sam gaped helplessly. Crowley’s hand at Sam’s dick swept down, squeezing Sam's balls along with the sensation. Sam's muscles spasmed, his release squeezed out of him with a guttural, reverberant shout of ecstasy.

Sam came hard onto his stomach, moaning, his orgasm washing over him wave after wave as he clenched hard around Crowley. And just the cherry on top: Crowley's other hand left Sam's hip in that moment, flicking the chain connecting his nipple clamps one final time, causing Sam’s orgasm to spike. Sam whimpered in pleasure, body seizing up beneath Crowley until he was a panting, shaking mess, rasping Crowley's name.

It wasn't exactly clear how much time passed after that. It could have been moments, it could have been minutes... Crowley's thrusts had stopped, the room had gone still, and eventually, Crowley shifted his hips back. Slowly, Sam was left empty... except for the warm slickness that remained deep within him. There came the sound of a zipper.

"Sam..." The purr that melted from Crowley's lips was low and satisfied, and it hummed pleasantly over the wrecked planes of Sam's body as Crowley dipped closer. "You should see yourself right now... Mm... " He buzzed, settling his lips down over Sam's chest, placing soft, exploring kisses over the marble-carved muscle of his hard skin. They trailed up to Sam's shoulder. "... You're gorgeous." More kisses, taking his time. Then, his breath was hot and rumbling in Sam's ear. "... I'd be so pleased to help dress you in bliss and cum every day, darling..." He murmured, his lips touching down to Sam's ear in a soft kiss, gently sucking on the lobe there.

Sam felt the warmth traveling all over his body distantly, mingling with the warmth still inside of him. It was bliss. He'd barely registered what Crowley was actually proposing, only that he could lay there forever like that. It was Heaven. Ironically...

Sam shifted groggily, realizing he was still trapped spread apart. It felt good. He hummed in hazy encouragement. Every little movement reminded him that he was filled with the other's sex. He'd never felt so claimed, and it was so good.

Crowley chuckled softly, pulling back. Considering how he'd looked the past two times he'd engaged in anything sexual with Sam, that time, he looked a little ruffled. Although the partially unbuttoned shirt and the missing tie weren't enough to make him appear like he'd just engaged in just as much sex as he had. His eyes continued to sweep over Sam, pleased... but they ended at his arm, stuck out to his side and dried with a wipe of blood.

Crowley leaned back on his knees, wiping a hand over the dried, dark red-brown of Sam's skin. When he took his hand away, Sam's skin was clean. And while Sam was still content and blissed, Crowley reached into his coat pocket and removed an empty syringe. Silently, Crowley traced up the line of Sam's vein with his finger, pressing just above the underside of his elbow. Softly, he leaned down enough to press a single, delicate kiss in that soft juncture.

Then, the needle.

It bit into Sam's vein, and with a slow pull on the plunger, Crowley's eyes flashed as a warm dark red began to fill the small tube.

Sam grunted softly, shifting his head to look at Crowley. Shit. Crowley was hot. What the hell? Sam frowned slightly in pain, but in his post-coital bliss, but he didn't mind. The way Crowley was handling him felt good. Sam wasn't a big cuddler after sex, but he enjoyed intimacy, and letting Crowley stick a needle in his body and take his blood was about intimate as it got. That and... Crowley was taking care of him. That was new, but... Sam liked it. He glanced at the entry spot then closed his eyes, letting Crowley take over.

Soon, the syringe was filled with warm, living crimson. Crowley hummed as he let up on Sam's muscle above, then gently pulled the needle out. He wiped his finger over the small bead of blood that began to form in the needle's absence, and when he pulled his finger away, the spot had healed. Not a pinprick to be seen, as if it had never happened. The only evidence that it had was being carefully tucked into a small cloth bag and hidden under the flap of Crowley's jacket.

"... Very good, Sam." Crowley hummed. Sam had long ago stopped noticing the vertiginous effects of blood loss, from the prick of a pin to buckshot, but something about the way Crowley did it made it feel like he was drawing the life out of Sam. He couldn't take his eyes off of him, watching with hazy determination as Crowley licked the spot on his thumb.

"You're such a good, agreeable boy after a nice orgasm... aren't you?" Crowley continued. Carefully, he ran his fingers over Sam's spent member, making Sam’s chest swell. But he didn’t move his hips. Then gradually, Crowley began to take the cock ring off, and the haze in Sam’s eyes grew a little deeper. One ball, then the other, then it slipped off easily over his length and disappeared into Crowley's grip. "Samantha love," Crowley began again, dipping down over Sam's body and settling a kiss on his cheek. As he continued, however, his voice was molten hot. "Your orgasms, all of them... they're mine now." He claimed, slowly wrapping his hand around Sam's sensitive length. He put just enough pressure there to claim him, but not enough to hurt... Too much, at least. Sam inhaled breathlessly, forcing his eyes to stay open.

"... Don't even think about touching yourself when I'm gone. Your sexual pleasure from now on... belongs to me." Crowley pulsed his grip over Sam's length the slightest bit. "Do you understand?"

"Fine." He stumbled. But despite all the resignation in his tone, there was a flicker of something in his eye: he wanted this, this intimacy... "It's yours." He husked.

"Mn... Good boy," Crowley rumbled, releasing Sam below and running the flat of his hand out over his hip, then up over his abdomen. His next words he purred right over Sam's lips, merely an inch away. "Now...time for me to keep looking for that brother of yours..." He pressed a quick, soft kiss to Sam's lips. "Keep being such a good boy now." The kiss that connected that time was lingering and long, lazily tasting Sam's lips and leaving the faint taste of blood and sulfur on Sam's tongue in return. It seemed as if it would go on forever, quiet smacks of lips echoing in the small room.

That kiss didn't surprise Sam. What surprised him was how long it drew out. Sam kissed him back, lips and tongue melting against Crowley's for a long, surprisingly soft kiss. Sam wanted to harden it, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt like Crowley was a part of him. He could've kissed like that for hours.  
But it ended. And when it did, the room seemed to lose a pull of air and a breath was stolen from Sam's lips. The weight and presence over Sam was gone, and one look down would reveal that Crowley, too, had disappeared. In his wake, the tie was gone, the chaps were gone, and Sam's stomach was cleaned of any bodily fluid. In fact, Sam had been re-dressed in the clothing he'd been wearing that day before he'd even entered the room. The only proof that Crowley had ever been there at all was the warm, claiming slickness of Crowley's seed that remained inside of Sam. And the nipple clamps. The presence of which was given away by one suggestive looking shape and shadow beneath Sam's shirt.

Sam shifted his head slightly, looking around. Everything was gone. Except... Sam shifted his legs a little. That felt weird. Really weird. In fact, in the startling reality of whose room he was still in, the fact that Sam was filled with Crowley's cum really downright wrong. Reality slowing dawning on him, Sam begin to come to.  
  
He sat up (god, that felt weird), then realized the clamps were still on. In a fit of self control, he lifted a hand up his shirt and tugged them off by the chain.  
  
Shit.  
  
Bad decision.  
  
Sam was full of those, it seemed.  
  
Sam gritted his teeth as his nipples came back to life all at once, flushing him with sensation. He took a deep breath, rubbing his chest outside of his shirt to draw away the pain. He lingered in that position, feeling the cool metal in his other hand.  
  
What... had just happened?  
  
Reality or dream, Sam's tranquility was very real, and very much a result of it. He felt incredible. Like he could actually sleep. He stuffed the clamps into his back pocket, then got up to use Dean's bathroom.  
  
God that felt weird. All of it.  
  
Sam felt strange cleaning himself off in Dean's shower, but no stranger than anything else he'd just done in there. That and... he missed his brother. Hopefully Crowley would keep his word. Why wouldn't he?  
  
Sam didn't get far after his shower. He collapsed on Dean's bed, the familiar smell of his brother (and someone else) soothing him. And for the first time in two days, he slept.

\---

In the middle of the night, Sam's body stiffened. He was awake. Gadreel opened his eyes. He was very pleased with the amount of sleep Sam was getting, but Sam kept tossing and turning, interrupting Gadreel's use of the time. Gadreel pulled the metal clamps out of Sam's back pocket and left them on the bed. That was better. Maybe Crowley's presence would actually be beneficial. Gadreel closed his eyes and retreated into Sam's subconscious, allowing him to continue sleeping comfortably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... Sam won. Penetration achieved. *Surprised gasps from audience!* Hand in your bets! Pay out of $0 to Destiel... Poor Dean. Maybe he'll get some sooner rather than later...! We can only hope. #hopeless :(
> 
> Coming chapters will be spread out a little more because work is getting more hectic for VanillaMelancholia, and sarasaurusrex has a lot of porn to catch up on -- but there should be at least one to two per week! So hold on to your panties... the ride is just getting started. 
> 
> Up next: more Destiel!


	8. Dean and Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel continue to investigate the case and find themselves in an unexpected situation.

Smoke on the Water. Dean's alarm. 7:30AM.

He opened his eyes after reaching that not-that-bad meditative state he'd found the night before when Castiel was watching him so closely, and the night had slipped by a lot more easily than the first. He stretched--because hey, after spending so many hours in the same position, he actually needed it-- and he slipped to his feet to the floor, standing gratefully. "Wake up, sleepy head!" He called to Castiel playfully as he shut off his alarm and walked over to the corner where he kept his bag. "We've got a lot of work to do, and probably an extra four hours of video surveillance footage to shuffle through after that. It's a big day!" Damn, he was in a good mood.

Castiel opened his eyes, because they had actually been closed. He looked around in confusion, settling his sights on Dean. He sat up stiffly, trench coat wrinkled around him. Had he fallen asleep? He hadn't done that since he was human.

"I see you're feeling better." He observed, getting up out of bed.

Dean gave Castiel a confident smirk. "That I am, Cas. Like a million bucks." He threw a new pair of boxers over his shoulder, heading to the bathroom. "I'll be right back out. Just gonna have a quick shower then we can be on our way! Hey," he called out, already in the bathroom. The rush of the water sounded, the door still open. "Why don't you head down and grab a paper again, just in case. You never know!" And with that, the door to the bathroom shut, Dean shifting around inside. 

Castiel eyed the bathroom door, not sure what to make of Dean's shift in mood. It was good, he guessed. Castiel gave a small cough then headed out the front door, closing it shut behind him. He walked downstairs, finding the front office much easier this time (it was right in front of the car). These people were much more eager to give Castiel a newspaper. He carried it back upstairs, only gently folded, and went back inside.

By the time that Castiel had gotten back, the door to the bathroom was open again. Dean was in front of the sink mirror, (placed oddly out of the bathroom) standing comfortably in his boxers and drying his hair off with a towel. "Find the paper?" He asked casually, dropping the towel down around his shoulders as he caught Castiel's eye in the mirror. 

"Uh... yes." He nodded, shutting the door behind him and casting his intense gaze to Dean. He handed him the paper, but for the first time, seemed to notice that Dean was almost nude. Mainly because he got a little ruffle through his feathers, right down to the base of his wings where Dean had been petting him the night before. Castiel adverted his eyes, albeit awkwardly.

Dean took the paper from Castiel, somehow ignoring the brush of skin against his as it was transferred between them. He looked back to his reflection, touching his face, feeling how smooth it was. Huh. Still no stubble. Maybe it was some demon thing that he didn't have to shave anymore-- 

His eyes caught the shadow of Cas's wings again. It almost seemed like he was seeing more of them that day, more than just shadow at the tops. It looked like the full length of them, folded up neatly at the tops, brushing against Castiel's legs... but still translucent. Still just shadow. Dean smiled. And then he felt a jolt of something else as he swore he saw them shiver. 

Was Cas embarrassed by Dean standing there in only his underwear?

No... no, it couldn't be. To say that Castiel lacked social grace was an understatement, so it went without saying that standing around in just underwear wouldn't be too much for him. But... he had been human for a time. And the way he averted his gaze, it was almost like...

Dean turned around, and with the newspaper tucked into his grip, he brushed by Castiel, feeling the warmth of his wing as he passed. Castiel stood still, the only sign he'd felt it was a small flutter of shadowy feathers silhouetted against the wall. He followed him with his eyes as Dean stalked towards the bed, glad to see that he was pleased with the paper. Casually, Dean took a seat, then he threw himself back against the sheets. He unfolded the paper in the air above him, beginning to read the headline page. The hand towel drew off of his shoulders, slowly pulling down his chest. His ribs. Down his flat stomach.

Castiel cleared his throat, casting his glances away from the bed. He felt strange, like he did once before when he was human. But why? Why now, and around Dean?

"We should... call the prison. Tell them we need… " He glanced back at Dean.

Subtly, Dean pushed the towel past the waistband of his boxers, revealing the slightest flash of hip to the room. 

"... the video surveillance ready... when we get there." Castiel suggested, tilting his head slightly as his eyes followed the towel.

Dean's eyes peeked out from beneath the shadow of the newspaper, catching that head tilt, following Castiel's gaze to right …where... Dean wanted him to look. And it was the next second that Dean caught himself smirking in response.

Wait. What?

"U-uh... yeah!" Dean agreed, hopping up from the bed and slamming the paper down where he'd been laying. "We should, um... Why don't..." Dean blinked, heading straight for the bathroom. "Why don't you do that, Cas? Hotel phone should be fine -- I've got the prison front desk's number written on the pad over there!" Dean slammed the bathroom door behind him, eyes blown wide, as he leaned up against the back of the door. His chest was rising and falling with the sheer shock of what the hell he'd just done. Was he trying to seduce Cas? He paused. He flipped the switch for the bathroom fan, its roar filling the room while he sank down to a squat. "... What in the world is wrong with me...?" He whispered in rhetorical interrogation, running his hand back through his hair. Rhetorical because it could only be one thing. He didn't want to look in the mirror. He knew his eyes were black.

Just why was this demon thing making him one shy step away from a flouncing gay gigolo? It wasn't exactly an All-American ad for joining up with the demon army movement or anything. His thoughts were running a mile a minute, and it was disturbing that more than half of them were about Cas. Were about... he didn't even want to admit just how far they were getting in there. It was downright traumatic. 

Dean's attentions were grabbed by an oddly cool sensation on his upper hip. Oh. He picked his hips up, and with an unnecessarily deep flush... he pulled his boxers back up to his waist. "...Dammit." 

In the bedroom, Castiel seemed to have collected himself enough to pick up the phone, press the numbers, and wait for someone from the prison to pick up. All while wondering why he pants suddenly felt tight.

"...Agent Lee and Hawkins... yes..." Castiel glanced down a few times, but got distracted when he thought he heard Dean talking to himself. "Have the video surveillance ready for our arrival." He looked at the bathroom door, "We'll be there in... twenty minutes." He muttered, hanging up without listening for a confirmation. He was planning to go right to Dean, but... something was in his way.

Why was he erect?

Castiel eyed his pants strangely. It wasn't too noticeable, but why was it there? Castiel didn't understand. He hadn't been around a woman or ordered a pizza in a long time. He covered himself up a little more with his trenchcoat, looking worried. Was this... his grace?

The door to the bathroom creaked quietly, and just before Dean walked out, the toilet flushed. "Um... sorry. Had to take care of some business. You know..." He pointed towards the rushing water sounding from the toilet. When was the last time he admitted to taking an imaginary dump? He shook his head, opening up the closet door swiftly as he tried to put it all behind him as a one time, weird as hell thing. "You call 'em?" He asked, throwing the subject in another direction as he pulled his suit pants off their hanger, stepping into them one leg at a time. And despite trying to look nonchalant as he dressed in front of the angel, (why the hell would he be embarrassed?) his back was very much to him. 

Castiel actually did know, but he didn't get a chance to say so, he got distracted watching Dean change, "Yes." He answered uncertainly, wondering why Dean's back was to him, and why he couldn't look away from his butt... His eyes narrowed intensely. 

Was Dean... the one making him erect? Castiel's brow raised, expression softening.

Castiel turned around as well, facing the door while Dean changed, "They'll have the tapes ready for us when we arrive." He rasped.

"Awesome..." Dean answered, buttoning up the bottom of his shirt and tucking it into his pants. His belt clinked as he secured it on. 

The air was so thick in that tiny room now... Awkward. 

"So..." Dean hummed, trying for some conversation, but failing. His hands went to his shirt buttons, fastening them one at a time. Soon, he was throwing his suit jacket and tie on the bed, turning around as he dealt with the wrist cuffs on his shirt. Still... not saying anything. Finally, words slipped out of his mouth like an accident. "... How are you?" 

He may as well have just said, 'I'm feeling awkward as fuck right now, Cas.' And as he laid his eyes on the angel, he realized that the feeling was more than likely a mutual one. He dropped his hands to his sides. Castiel had noticed how weird he was. Cas! Awkwardly, he slipped his tie around his collar, beginning to twist it into place for the day. 

Castiel glanced in Dean's direction, not sure how to answer the question.

Except... lie.

"I'm fine, Dean." He muttered, wishing it were true.

Dean smiled, trying to force away his awkward rush. "That's great. That's... really great." He tightened his tie up against his collar, flipping it down over it. It was then that he took notice of Castiel a second time. "Cas..." He began, slipping into his shoes and tying them against the side of the mattress. "... I'm not a sixteen-year-old girl in the locker room... You can look, you know." 

You don't have to give me privacy. That's what he meant. He slapped his foot down against the floor, then hiked his other one up for a tie. He picked up his jacket, folding it over his arm. 

It's not like he wanted Castiel to look.

Castiel glanced over at Dean apprehensively. He had to... act normal. Act... normal. Castiel cleared his throat, "Right." He nodded, examining Dean's suit awkwardly, "You look..." He stared. "Nice."

Dean, halfway into the second arm of his jacket, paused. "Um..." He started, feeling himself ruffle in the proudest, weirdest way. "... Thanks," he continued, not sounding sure about it at all. Because what did he care how Castiel thought he looked? It's not like he was dressing nice for him. He cleared his throat, the silence building between the two of them as he stared at Castiel from across the room. It was morning, but Dean could swear he heard crickets. 

"... Let's get going." Dean muttered, throwing his wallet and keys into his suit pocket and smoothing his hands down over his jacket sides. He practically sprang for the door. 

Castiel's wing twitched at that thanks. He was glad Dean couldn't see them. They were a little bigger than usual...

Castiel followed Dean out the door, pushing the white plastic bag under the TV table with his foot. He closed the door behind them.

 

\--

 

"... Daaaamn... I am so done with this." Dean groaned, picking himself up from a chair he thought was amazingly comfortable four hours ago. But sitting crumpled in front of a screen watching security tape after security tape, that was Hell. And Dean should know. 

They'd decided to first go over the tapes just outside of the cell. When those revealed nothing, they expanded their search slowly out through the prison. By that point, they were watching shit in real time and researching potential supernatural causes on the jail's very secure Internet connection. Which wasn't making things any less difficult. The only good thing which had come from all of that time getting leg cramps and conducting massive amounts of busy work: at least whatever awkward air that had transpired between them that morning had dissipated. But looking on the bright side wasn't exactly written into Dean's job description. So he groaned again. "Cas," Dean continued, snapping his suit jacket off the back of the chair. "Let's go out to the jail cell again, look around... Maybe we've got a new perspective now." He huffed, sticking his arms into his suit jacket. "But at least it'll let us stretch our legs..." 

Castiel, who was the one accustomed to remaining motionless in one position for several hours of Earth time, agreed. They'd found no real leads, no hex bags, nothing to confirm the cell mate's story; Castiel was beginning to feel like this was a waste of their time. Still, he got up to follow Dean, wondering what a new perspective could offer.

"Maybe... we should interview the cell mate again. Or the security guard." Castiel thought aloud, looking a little tired.

"Inmate. Security guard. Got it," Dean echoed, listening less than he was walking down the way towards the front desk. It wasn't too far away, and if they wanted to be buzzed anywhere else in the jail, they had to start there. "Maybe we'll start with the inmate since we're already on our way there. The tapes guy should be back after that late lunch of his, so..." Dean shrugged. We'll see where that goes. 

Castiel nodded, giving a small sigh as they walked to the front desk where they caught the tail end of a transpiring conversation:

"...not actually so torn up about it. I guess the guy was a loser. And a real bastard when it came to that dog of his."

"Is the dog all right?"

"Yeah. Animal control didn't punish the big guy at all. In fact, I guess he's getting a new home now."

"Well, that's good."

"Excuse me," Dean interrupted, noting that front desk guy was shooting the shit with mailman guy again. He had time to talk, he had time to do his job. "Could you buzz me and my partner back into the cell? We want to check something out." 

The guy behind the desk blinked, his smile falling back into that sullen, slightly menacing frown of his again. His gaze didn't drop. He pressed down on a button, a loud buzzer kicking up in the background.

Dean had almost gotten used to that look by now. Almost. He cleared his throat, smile becoming tense as he led Castiel around the desk and back to the door that led into the prison.

"Afternoon, gentlemen." The amicable mailman greeted. Dean gave him a curt nod, looking uncomfortable as hell in front of the creepy desk guy. He breathed a sigh of relief the second they were behind that other door and separated from the lobby. "Cas... remind me to look up 'creepy as hell' as a description for supernatural creatures. Maybe that's the starting point we need." He mumbled, trying to shove his memory of the desk guy out of his head as they met up with the patrolling guard just down the hallway. 

"I... don't think that will be in any of the databases, Dean." Castiel advised, walking beside him.

Dean sighed, speaking under his breath as the guard led them back towards Block C. "... It damn well should be." 

The cellblock was pretty quiet, the after-lunch buzz taking place in rec rooms and out in the jail yard. Barely anyone was in their cells. It took only a moment to walk back to the cell Thompson was in, and just one more for the guard there to open it for Dean and Castiel and walk back to his station just down the hallway. But Dean didn't spend much time looking inside that time around. Instead, his eyes went right for the cell across the way. Their guy was there.

"Hey, man." Dean greeted, walking up to the cell and leaning comfortably on the bars, careful to avoid making direct contact with their iron. "Miss us?"

"Er..." The man shook his head, curling up a little on the edge of his bed. He was in the exact position he'd been in the other day, and what's more, he seemed to be visibly praying that time. He didn't uncurl his fingers, his knuckles white beneath tense digits. 

Castiel approached, but didn't touch the bars, "We need to know more about what happened in Kyle Thompson's cell." He said darkly.

The man continued to stare down at his fingers. He spoke softly. "...I've.. already told you everything I know."

"No way." Dean asserted, starting to get a bit of a bite to his tone again. This place pissed him off. He couldn't explain it. "You're lying. Look at you; you're a mess. Something else happened you're not telling us about."

The man was silent.

"Tell us!" 

"No!" He asserted. He was shaking, eyes closed, broken. Finally: "Not you." The man began, his breaths short. He nodded to Castiel, not quite looking up to do so. "...Him."

Castiel didn't say anything, he merely looked at Dean, as if waiting for him to leave.

Dean laughed. "No. You're going to talk to me, buddy. All righ--" Dean cut himself off, catching the look from Castiel. He read it easily. "You're kidding." He mumbled, looking at Castiel like he'd grown another head. "You're fuckin' kidding me right now, yeah?" He actually sounded angry, his voice straining with fiery annoyance. "You're kidding." 

Castiel's expression turned to one of impatience, "Dean. We need him to talk."

Dean stared back at Castiel. He looked to the guy in the cell. Then, he threw his hands up in the air, shoving it off. "Fine! What the hell..." He leaned in to Castiel, his anger flaring higher. "I'll get lunch." He smiled tight, then he turned his back, walking away. He tried his best to avoid doing it, but the anger that gripped him... Dean kicked the bars of one of the few occupied cells in the block, the sound rattling and low in the reverberant concrete surroundings.

"Hey, what the hell, buddy?"

"Screw you." Dean threw back, walking by a very confused guard and out of the cellblock. 

Why was he so angry? And this was the second time it had happened there.

Castiel watched him go sadly. He turned back to the bars, "Was that really necessary?" He asked.

The man caught Castiel's eyes before dropping them, frightened, to his fists. "I..." He began, breathing quietly. "I don't want to be hassled." Another quiet moment, and he nodded softly. "... but I want to help. Especially after.. what happened to Thompson. I don't want that happening to... me." He shuddered, his breath failing him for a moment, unable to continue. 

"It's... alright." Castiel tried to sound comforting, but he wasn't sure if it worked, "I need you to tell me everything that happened." He said.

"I wasn't lying." The man continued, sounding a little more put together after a few seconds of recovery. "But... I suppose I haven't told you everything. I just.." He paused. "I don't know if it'll help your investigation. And it's... embarrassing." 

Castiel sighed, "I assure you, it will help." He said, "We need to know everything... if we're going to stop it from happening again."

The man stared at his fingers. He did nothing for several very long, very silent seconds. Then, finally, he sought out Castiel's eyes again. Quietly, he stood from his bed. His legs looked stiff. It took longer than it should have for the man to stand up straight, looking very much like he'd been sitting there in that position for a long time without moving. But when he finally did, he walked to the iron bars, and he motioned for Castiel to lean closer, looking left and right down the row of cells, his eyes filled with shame. 

Castiel glanced around as well before leaning closer, watching the man intently.

"I... um... Thompson, he..." He began, looking at Castiel, before quickly dropping his gaze. His voice was even quieter, barely audible, especially amidst the gentle hum of distant noise that was the prison. His shame seemed to have doubled as he whispered the rest of his statement: "... he... raped me.."

Castiel's brow came together in concern, "I'm... sorry." He said, "When... when did it happen?"

"...The week up until he... " He stuttered over his words, needing to breathe before he continued. "... died." He couldn't meet Castiel's eyes anymore. "... At least once a day... if not more. Always... always alone. No one else knows.." He muttered, his voice quieter by the moment. It seemed like he was done talking. But surprisingly, he continued, two words on his lips. "... Six days."

Castiel's concern intensified, "He did this to you... for six days?"

The man couldn't speak anymore, but for just one second, he managed to meet Castiel's eyes. And he nodded. Slowly.

Like marching to a funeral, the man returned to his bed, sitting down and clasping his hands on his knees again. He closed his eyes, going silent once more. 

Castiel looked down, thinking. Finally, he had one more question, "Why are you here?"

The man was silent. Very silent.

"Excuse me. Agent Hawkins?" The security guard from down the hall was at Castiel's side, voice apologetic. "I'm very sorry, but... your partner has been causing a commotion... We're going to have to ask you to meet up with him." He sighed. "We appreciate what you're trying to do here and all, but... we can't have him wandering around alone anymore." And before Castiel could do anything to respond, the guard leaned in close, speaking in a hushed tone the prisoner couldn't hear. "And if you ask me, talking to Frankie Yorke in there, that's not going to do you any good. The guy's a nut job." 

Castiel looked from the guard, to Frankie, then back down the hall where Dean had left. He sighed, expression hardening in frustration, "Sorry." He said, but it wasn't a pitiful apology. It was vengeful. He looked to Frankie one more time, "We'll keep you safe." He commanded, and with that, he went after Dean.

 

\---

 

The front desk guy stared at Dean from behind that whale-like desk of his. Having a desk that big seemed totally unnecessary.

Dean stared back at desk guy. Dammit. He wanted to punch desk guy.

Dean's pout, which had been glued to his face ever since he'd been escorted to the main lobby by an aging prison guard, erupted into full-on bitchface as he saw the door leading to Block C slam behind Castiel. He got up from the chair he'd been led to in the corner like a third grader on time out. "Cas, these guys are dicks. Every one of them, dicks." He looked around the room again, but it was all sent to desk guy. "They're interrupting a federal investigation, you know. That's jail time right there. Lock 'em in their own damn cells." 

"Agent." Castiel silenced him, walking right up to his face, despite being a few inches shorter, "We need to speak. In private." His wings nearly spanned the entire room, shot back like scythes.

Dean noticed. He ran his eyes along them, their form less shadow, and more wing-like now. If he squinted, he could see the faint, shadowy detail of feathers. He led his eyes to desk guy, masking his ogling. "... Fine." He muttered fiercely, spitting Castiel's title right back in his face like acid. "Agent."

Dean turned on his heel, bursting through the main door. He stomped outside to the large parking lot that was connected to the prison property. The Impala was parked right up front. Dean ducked down as he sat inside, slamming the driver’s side door and he stared straight ahead, waiting for Castiel. 

Castiel wasn't far behind. He squinted in the daylight after Dean, getting into the car a little quieter, but the car still shook when the door closed.

Dean was silent, waiting. The silence persisted about them, Dean still staring straight ahead like he was watching the disappointment play out before him. Finally, he spoke, turning in his seat with a caustic hiss. "So, are you going to talk to me, or am I supposed to develop some sort of telepathy here?" 

"I need you to give me the first blade." Castiel finally said, eyes burning into Dean's. It wasn't a threat, it was a need.

Dean blinked. He looked ahead, out to the jail again. Then he looked right back at Castiel, looking insulted. "What?" He barked. 

Castiel's gaze hadn't moved, "You have been acting strangely since Metatron's death, and now your aggression is going to get us kicked out of this prison." He warned him.

"My aggression-- Cas!" Dean threw back, shaking his head. "Yeah, I've been kicking metal and punching things, and you know what, most of those assholes in there fuckin' deserve what I've been dishing out in the anger category because they're just that. Assholes. But my aggression has only been this bad when we're here!" He chuckled, but it wasn't an amused one. In some way, it was an enraged one. "Shit! The only thing I've been when we're away from this place is fucking outrageously and for no goddamn reason horny!" He screamed. And it echoed.

It fucking echoed. 

Dean's eyes shot open. What had he said? Before he could hear anything from Castiel, he jumped up out of his seat, face red. He slammed the door and he ran back towards the jail. Anywhere. Anywhere Castiel wasn't. 

Castiel blinked at the driver's side door. He... didn't understand.

Or maybe he did.

Castiel took a deep, incredibly taxing breath, then got out of the car. He walked back up to the prison entrance.

Unsurprisingly (or at least no longer able to be surprised), Castiel found Dean yelling at the desk guy again. Castiel cleared his throat, eying Dean seriously to step aside. His wings were down this time, tucked away behind his back.

"Fuck you! I'm FBI! Does FEDERAL mean anything to you, Creep--" Dean turned his head around at Castiel's somehow entirely attention getting throat clear. His hair stopped prickling. He closed his eyes, turning away from the completely unperturbed desk guy, and released the longest, loudest sigh he had in a long time. One that ended in a loud growl. "...Shit!" He muttered, combing his hands back through his hair. Though he didn't move right away.

After he finally decided it was time for him to face the music and head for Castiel... 

"Hey! Agent Lee. You're back." It was the warden. He was walking happily out of his office with a smile plastered all over his face as he approached Dean. "Sorry about that little snafu earlier... hope you understand. We're a tight knit community here; the guards don't take lightly to outsiders, if you understand me."

"Uh... It's... um. Sure." Dean shook his head, releasing a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He was honestly a little thankful for the interruption. He wouldn't need to face Castiel just yet. And this guy wasn't riding along with the prison asshole parade. "What's up?"

"Well, I know you said to hold onto it for safekeeping until you're back tomorrow, but... oh, what the heck. Here," He handed Dean a manila file folder. "I just managed to push through the final papers to get me on an early vacation. It wasn't meant to start for a few days, but the wife got a deal on the lake house for a few extra days and... you know how it goes. Figured this might just be safer with you for now since I'll be away." 

"Wait, you... what?" Dean asked, brows folding together as a new concern flowed through him. "I asked you to hold onto this. I did?"

"Uh... Yes. You did." The warden looked confused. "You came into my office not five minutes ago. We talked for a while about my son, then your brother. Sam, right?"

Dean's eyes were wide. He was choking back another howl. A scream. What the hell? Five minutes ago he’d been yelling at asshole guards and getting thrown in a corner like a two-year old on time out. He hadn’t been inside the warden’s office at all that day. Not for five minutes, not for five seconds…

And he sure as hell hadn’t mentioned Sam.

"Are you all right, Agent Lee?"

"Uh... yep. Yes, I'm fine, just..." He looked at the folder in his hands. There, scrawled on the top tab in bold, block letters: Dean Winchester. "I've got to go."

"Agent Lee? Do you--"

"It's fine!" He ran past Castiel, grabbing his arm and pulling him back out the front door to the Impala. This wasn't just about some idiot murderer who killed himself anymore. This wasn't just any old demonic possession or asshole-filled Cook county lock up. 

This was personal.

Castiel could tell. Or at least he was now so confused and frustrated that he saw no other option but to continue being pulled around by Dean. Literally.

He got into the car with Dean, boring a hole into his head with his eyes.

Dean barely noticed. He was far too caught up with that file folder. He didn't even care if it was something Castiel shouldn't see, he had to open it right at that moment. He tore it open and... 

Nothing. 

It was filled with nothing.

Dean's eyes bugged, he turned it over in his hands, once, twice... but that was it. It was just an empty file folder with his name on the tab, and a bright red 'CONFIDENTIAL' stamped across the front. He looked even more hysterical than before. "Shit.. he's... he's teasing us." He said, throwing the folder into Castiel's lap. He flung the Impala into reverse, and soon, he was flying out onto the road, looking from sidewalk to sidewalk hysterical fear transformed into anger. He searched the sidewalks impatiently. "Dammit... he's out there, he just left... Where is he?"

"Dean..." Castiel practically hung on to the car as Dean drove like a madman, ignoring the folder, "If you would just tell me what's going on..."

"I have no idea, Cas, just that..." He turned to Castiel for a fraction of a moment. ".. I don't know how he did it, Cas. I don't know who he is... but he knows us. And he's got my image." He turned back to the road. "We've got one major shapeshifter on our hands. And he's playing us." 

Castiel's eyes narrowed, "How do you know it's a shapeshifter?"

"He went to the frickin' warden and dropped that thing off!" Dean pointed to the discarded file folder. "Me! He was me, Cas! And he talked about Sammy and..." He shook his head, growling and tightening his hands on the wheel. "I'm going to kill the sonuvabitch." 

The light ahead turned red, and the few cars in front of him slowed to a stop. Dean did so hesitantly. "Oh... come on!" Dean yelled, smacking his hands on the sides of the steering wheel. After another growl, he stuck his head out the driver's side window. "Just go! You can make it! Come on!" He slapped the side of his car. "Move it!" He honked twice.

Castiel looked at him suspiciously, "What about Kyle Thompson?"

"What the-- Kyle Thompson?" Dean brought his head back inside, though his rage continued. "Who cares about that sac?! It's not him I'm worried about anymore. This is bigger than that, Cas!"

"Hey, buddy! Quiet down back there, it's a red!"

"Screw you!" Dean yelled, sticking his head back out of the car window. And that's when he saw him. Unmistakably. The back of Dean's head, wearing everything he was wearing that day, down to the subtle charcoal pinstripe overlay on his slacks. "Shit... That's him!" He pulled his head back into the car, and that's when the light turned green again. Dean pulled off into the first parking lot on the right, a fast food place that was bustling with business. This part of town was far busier than the other side. There was a line out the door and it circled nearly all the way around the west side of place. Dean didn't care. He got out of the Impala quick, snatching something out of his bag before barreling down the sidewalk, fighting through the crowd to get to the other side. "Come on, Cas!" He called, not stopping even as he darted out in front of a car, sidestepping around it as it honked him out of the street.

"Dean!" Castiel hollered, getting out of the car. He, too, ran through the street, in front of another car, making it screech to halt. Castiel glared heavily at it. It didn't honk.

Castiel caught up with Dean, having to use a little angel stamina along the way. He wasn't occupied with the shapeshifter, however. He was looking at Dean's hand, "Dean." He tried to stop him.

Dean looked surprised. Not that Castiel had caught up with him so quickly, but that he was intrigued by his hand instead of the shifter. "Cas, what the hell?" He almost yelled, not that it would have mattered. They seemed to have run right into an intersection of bustling people, a square just a little further down bustling with even more. Dean looked over the tops of some heads. "There!" He pointed. "See him, Cas? We've got to get him!" Dean pushed past a few people in the crowded sidewalk, heading further up. Heading right to that crowded square. 

Castiel sighed in frustration, chasing after him through the busy crowd, slipping a few resigned ‘excuse me’s here and there.

Finally, "Dean, where?" Castiel shouted, giving up on working through the crowd, and instead he spread his wings tall and wide.

But Dean was already so much further ahead. He was in the square now, and the guy he was chasing was stopping at some steps where quite a number of other people had gathered, hundreds, even. Trying to hide in plain sight... such a shifter tactic. And it wasn't going to work here. With a wide grin, Dean grabbed the suited shoulder of the monster. "Hey, you damn shifter!" He turned him around harshly, a growl in his throat. "... I've got you now!"

....

It wasn't the shifter.

A guy with a short, squat face and a beak of a nose stared back at him, certainly attractive by no means of the word. And certainly looking nothing like Dean. 

It wasn't even a half of a second later that Castiel appeared behind the suited man, his reentry covered by the swarms of people cresting the stairs. But his eyes weren't on the 'shapeshifter.’ Castiel had moved like lightening, moving right past the man and straight at Dean. He hauled him off of his prey and back into the stream of people at the bottom of the steps so fast it could've been teleportation. He gripped Dean's forearm tight, pulling it, and the weapon, away from Dean's body, "That's not a shapeshifter, Dean." He looked deadly. And he wasn't letting go.

Dean saw Castiel's expression. He noted the angel mojo. And more importantly, he noticed that he'd taken it. Castiel had slipped the first blade right out of his hands. Dean's eyes narrowed, a prickling of anger surging through him. 

And inappropriately enough, that anger was laced with a little something hot and extra. Dean's breath began to move out of him in stronger pulls.

"Oh... my god." One of the people on the stairs gasped. 

It was followed by another. And another. And then suit guy was climbing down the stairs to face Dean and Castiel. 

"That... was so ..." He breathed, looking up at them intently. He smiled wide. "...COOL!" The suited guy turned to a group of people sitting behind him on the stairs. "Hey, hey! Guys! Look at this Dean! He's so awesome!" 

Dean blinked. His anger subsiding as he took in the small group within the massive square that was beginning to stop and form around he and Castiel. Oh. Oh no. He began to look more closely at the people surrounding them. Vague faces and clothing that he recognized were in his immediate area. Somewhere beyond that, Marios were running around with Luigis, and other colorful costumes he had no luck in recognizing paraded around the area. It was some sort of... nerd fest. 

"He called me a shapeshifter. Ha! Man, I thought I was the only FBI Dean here. Cool, man." He smiled at him, adjusting his tie.

"Holy shit!" A girl from the group ran up, wearing a green flannel and a longer, dark brown wig. "And this Castiel... he's, like... perfect." She stood back, staring at him in awe. "Wow... you could so audition to play Castiel if they ever do a movie. I am serious right now." 

Another girl stood up, a short beard wig glued to her face, and a traditional red flannel around her shoulders. "Hey, Boy." She walked up to Dean and pointed to her baseball cap. Right to the bold, dark letters which read IDJIT very prominently. She gave a self-satisfied smile, and a few members in the group laughed, including a pretty young girl wearing a curly blonde wig and a hauntingly beautiful nightgown. 

Dean's eyes were huge. "Hey.. uh... Bobby. Um..." Then to suit guy. "....Me." He smiled awkwardly. "We've got to... be going, actually. We're pretty busy, so..."

"Hey! Wanna hit the McDonalds with us down the street? Looks like you two could use a Sam..." The dark haired wig girl stood her ground in front of Dean. Dean stared down at her. She must have been nearly a foot shorter than him. 

"Um..."

"And Castiel! Man, I cannot get over this... Tell us, how's Heaven?" 

Castiel's anger hadn't dissipated. Rather, it had transformed into utter confusion, "Us?" He glared at the strange human, "Who are you people?" He demanded, not letting go of Dean or the First Blade, "How do you know about us?"

"Ha ha. Very funny, Agent." Dean said, looking to Castiel with a sidelong glance. He turned to the kids. "I really hate to rain on your parade here, kids, but..." He pulled his badge out of his suit pocket, flashing it to everyone in their immediate circle. "... we are real Federal Agents, and we are conducting an investigation--"

"Oh, sweet!" Suit guy took Dean's badge right out of his hands.

Dean blinked. "...What--"

"This looks so. Real! Guys, look at this!" He turned around, showing it to the Bobby and a few other familiar faces in the group.

Dean's face began to contort in anger, but he huffed it away. "...Guys, really..."

"Seriously. Mad props to your prop making skills. This is awesome." He laughed, lifting it up and showing it around. “Special Agent Tommy Lee… The drummer? Dude… that is so Dean. Perfect…” He continued looking it over as he mumbled something about federal agents and investigations to himself. 

Dean sighed, giving up on the charade. "Give me that." He snapped, tearing the badge back out of the guy's hands. He stuffed it back into his pocket, trying to calm himself down. "Yeah... that's right. It's a nice prop, so... Leave it. And really, it was nice meeting you all, but--"

"Oh my god. The UST between you two right now... Are you..." The Sam popped between Castiel and Dean, searching between them seriously. "... You two are a real couple. Aren't you? That's why you don't have a Sam." She smiled wide. "Oh my god, you're real Destiel! Guys!" She called over a group of female demons and eerily familiar faces. "These two are Destiel! Look, look! Do it!" She linked their hands together, running in front of them giddily. "Make out! Make out!" 

This was some weird joke. Gabriel was behind this. Metatron. Someone. Castiel was sure of it. He stashed the First Blade inside his trench coat, reaching in for the angel blade as his hand linked numbly with Dean's. He was too distracted to understand what was going on. How did they all know so much?

Was this... a cult?

The group squealed in front of them, running in close, swarming them as more cheers of: "Make out!" "Kiss him!" "Touch his butt!" Rang through the air. 

Dean blinked, his face going red. Oh... shoot, these people didn't know what they were doing. He raised his hands, trying to clear his throat as an embarrassed fog rose over him. "Uh... no, we're..." He tried to shoo them off, but he couldn't. His voice was so small. "I... really don't..."

"Castiel! Plant one on him!" 

"That's enough." Castiel's dark voice boomed, and he did the only thing he could think of.

Castiel threw an arm around Dean, pulling him close, and with a rush of his wings...

They were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait for this chapter, peeps! Now both of us have jobs, and you know how it goes. (Also, sarasaurusrex is very seriously playing the stomach drum. It really keeps her busy.) As such, and by way of apology, we will be posting another chapter by tomorrow at latest! We'll see how it goes further down the line, but it's likely that chapters will be coming once a week for a little while--but in pairs! Woo!
> 
> And maybe sometime in the (eventual) future, we'll actually have some Destiel action, too. Maybe. ;u; 
> 
> In the meantime, thank Moose for Sam and Crowley! Amirite? Speaking of which, Mooseley is coming up next. Stay tuned...


	9. Sam and Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley returns with a surprise for Sam – in exchange for more blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Another chapter... and so soon! :D Thank you all for your views, comments, and kudos. <3 So much love.
> 
> Next chapter (a Destiel) will be up in about a week, and a Mooseley should be quick to follow. But for now, sit back, kick your feet up, and enjoy this new Mooseley. Hope you like it!

Sam awoke at 10:30 in the morning. In the pitch blackness of the bunker bedroom, without an alarm blaring at him, he could've slept easily until noon, but his internal alarm clock was going so haywire that he woke in confusion, unable to fall back asleep once he'd taken stock of his surroundings.

It wasn't often hunters got so much sleep.

Or sex.

... In their brother's bedroom.

...

With the King of Hell.

Sam washed down his guilt with coffee, and found a tube of cinnamon rolls in the kitchen. He was starving. He ate all of them in front of his laptop, not even noticing when the first one burnt his tongue. His research on the First Blade and the Mark of Cain was still sprawled everywhere, all documents from the Men of Letter's library. But his eyes were on local news websites. Maybe he'd look for a case while he waited another 60 hours for Dean's location.

It was late afternoon by the time Sam gave up. There was nothing. Not even a haunting at the local abandoned insane asylum.

Sam did the dishes then read around the library for the rest of the day. He must've been through the theology section six times by now. He almost considered learning Hebrew just to read the last few books that weren't in English. Anything to keep his mind off—

Crowley.

"Hello, Sam." A low, reverberant voice greeted, seated at the table right beside Sam. "How are you this lovely evening?" 

Sam sighed, not sure if he was frustrated or relieved that he'd been in the middle of breaking a Hebrew word apart. He lowered the book, but didn't close it, glancing at Crowley, "Did you find him?" He asked, returning to the word. 

"No. Unfortunately." Crowley responded. "But there's a great little convention in Rosemont, Illinois that's filled with Deans of all shapes and sizes. Sams, even." He shrugged. "I can take you if you’d like. You'd probably have fans."

Sam shuddered, sucking in a deep breath, "No." He set his book down, "No." He sighed, "Just... find my brother." He glanced Crowley. Then returned to his book.

Crowley tipped his head. "Aw," He pouted, the tone of his voice still remaining sinister by some miracle of means. He leaned closer, eyes focused and intent in their gaze as a smile stretched over his lips instead. "You're ruining my date plans for the evening, love." 

Sam rolled his eyes, looking back at Crowley over his book, "What plans?" He asked sarcastically.

Crowley's brows bounced. "Ooo, so dismissive, Samantha love." He leaned even closer, his chair scooting soundlessly on the smooth library floor. When he continued, his voice was a low growl in Sam's ear. "When you get all defiant like that, Sam... you know how wet that makes my cock..." 

Sam glanced out of his book, as if afraid someone would overhear. But no, he was alone. He knew that. Sam cleared his head, trying to recover. He tilted back to look at Crowley defiantly, "Good. Cuz you're going to get a lot of that." He slammed his book down. What was he doing? "And it's Sam." He nearly sneered, staring Crowley eye to eye before getting up out of his chair.

Crowley grinned. "Feisty as always." He muttered, pleased. And just as Sam was standing, Crowley was raising smoothly, too. A short step had him right in Sam's personal space, glaring up at him hotly. "So... How about revisiting our little side deal while we wait for the good news about your brother?" Slowly he dragged a brush of a finger up the front of his arm. "...A little blood for me... a lot of attention and pleasure for you." His gaze shot back up to hold Sam's unwaveringly. "What do you say?" 

Sam didn't budge, but he drew his arm back at the touch. That felt... weird. Sam's color deepened, staring back at Crowley. His mind felt heavy, like he could use a load off. The long research table was cluttered with books, articles -- a million things he'd read through a million times with no luck, no starting point. Sam was looking at the only one he had, and he wanted Sam's blood. Sam wanted... Well, he wanted...

Sam glanced around shortly, then, "Fine." He pulled his arm back again before Crowley could respond, "But no syringe this time. I don't want you to just drink it whenever you want." He said, "It's gotta be from me." He eyed him intently. He wasn't sure where these demands were coming from, but regulating Crowley's use of Sam's blood was probably a good idea. Dean would kill him if he found out he was doing this just for his location. 

That's all he was doing this for, right?

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "It makes me all tingly when you make demands like that, Moose..." He murmured in playful response. He chuckled lightly before continuing. "But I'm no scummy vampire, Sam. I prefer the intravenous route. Doesn't rot the teeth that way." He smiled, almost as in show. "But for you... I won't disappear with your kind donation this time. It will be by syringe, right here where your pretty little eyes can see it." Slipping closer again, Crowley pressed a hip into Sam's side, sliding the pads of his fingers up Sam's leg. "Have we reached a compromise?" He muttered, groping Sam's ass. 

Despite the intent look in Sam's eyes, he swallowed, his grip on the table behind him wavering, then tightening. "Yes," he muttered.

Crowley's head lowered, gaze heating with the flick of a switch. "Lovely." And with a sudden, overwhelming flood of thunks and thuds, an eruption of air blew out behind Sam, books and articles and various religious documents of all types flying up and skittering and slamming across the floor in the blink of an eye. Sam’s head spun around indignantly, but the next thing he knew, he was being thrown on his back onto the efficiently cleared table. Sam tried to grip the surface as he went flying, but before he could, Crowley's mouth was on his in a rough kiss, so Sam gripped him instead.

He got a rush in the chaos of the moment, his indignity towards all his stuff now lying on the floor (that was kind of hot, actually) fuelling a sudden burst of energy. Sam opened his mouth into the kiss, realizing Crowley was trying to take over and not giving in to him that easily. He nipped and fought for control, kissing and gripping him hotly.

Crowley seemed to back off for a moment as Sam made his attempts to control known. But that lasted for only a moment. In the very next, he was growling into Sam's mouth possessively and slamming Sam's thighs apart with his knees. He crawled between them, tugging into Sam's hair with a hard grip as he deepened the kiss, sucking Sam's tongue into his mouth and nipping it as he held him down. He'd worked them into the middle of the table effortlessly. 

"Mmnf..." Sam breathed, heartbeat picking up. He couldn't find a place to grab on Crowley as good as the hold Crowley had on Sam's hair, so he wrapped his hand up in Crowley's tie, the other in his suit jacket, and tugged him down to Sam's level, lifting his upper body off the table to kiss him deeply. Whatever well he'd tapped had Sam fighting into Crowley's mouth, sucking and nipping him powerfully. 

An intrigued growl curled its way into Sam's mouth, though Crowley continued being relentless in his possession of Sam's lips. It was as if they were in a full on fight for dominance, and every nip and suck had Crowley nipping, sucking, and growling right back with even more force. Sam was downright making out with the King of Hell.

Smoothly amidst their fight, Crowley slipped his hand up to his tie, loosening it swiftly, moving it right with Sam’s grip in such a way that his pulling only helped to slip it off Crowley's neck. And in the second of surprise that Crowley had gained, he snapped the silver silk out of Sam's hands. Quickly, he broke their kiss, wrapping the cool material over Sam's eyes and around his head once, then twice, then he was tying it off behind his head. "That tight enough for you, darling?" He cooed, swiftly nipping a sharp trail down Sam's neck. 

Sam gaped in surprise, his grip on Crowley faltering in confusion as he realized what he was doing: Crowley was blindfolding him. 

Crowley sucked hard at the juncture of Sam’s shoulder as he ran a hand back into his hair, pulling his head back forcefully to better expose his neck. Sam growled in response just as Crowley’s teeth sunk into his skin, but the sound was more aroused than enraged. "...You really think I'm not going to just rip this off when you get off of me?" He breathed, trying to hide his excitement.

"No, actually.... I don't think so at all." Crowley rumbled. 

In another flick of movement, Crowley was raising himself away just enough to rip Sam's flannel all the way down its front, buttons springing everywhere, joining the disarray of books and papers surrounding them. Sam didn’t need to see to know that Crowley had just ripped his favorite flannel. He would’ve yelled at him, but Crowley was sucking all the breath out of his body in the next few seconds. A burst of strength had that flannel pulled up over Sam's head and abandoned on the floor. And for some reason, the shirt Sam had been wearing under it, upon removing the outer layer, was nowhere to be seen. Quickly, and with all of the splendor that inhuman strength might suggest, Crowley pressed a hand down over both of Sam's, holding them over his head. "... Arch your back, love." Crowley growled, his other hand quickly finding an exposed nipple and tugging at it, hard. "High."

"Shit!" Sam gasped, arching up easily at the… suggestion.

"Very nice..." Crowley murmured, taking just a brief moment to observe the naked curve in Sam's spine. Then, he released Sam's nipple, his grip over his hands disappearing. But, somehow, the force remained, something invisible and heavy holding him down. And just a second later, that force was whipping Sam's right hand behind his back, palm down, in the empty air left under the arch of his spine. Then, his left hand slammed down in the same manner, the same place. Sam exhaled in surprise. He flexed his arms, then his fists, but he couldn't pry them away. 

"I've got another present for you, Sam..." Crowley purred, his voice gaining that extra grind of gravel that seemed to appear when he was aroused. "Ready to feel it...?"

Sam’s chest heaved gently in anticipation. "Yeah." He nodded, trying to swallow his nerves, but he couldn't see a thing, allowing Crowley's voice to slither through him all the deeper. This... was a little intense.

Crowley didn't answer. Instead, he acted. Soon, his hands were reaching under the arch of Sam's spine, and with them, came a smooth, braided length--not too thick, but not too thin either. A silk rope. At the guide of Crowley's hands, that smooth rope was soon wrapped around and around Sam's wrists, Crowley hugging his body close as he worked the tie from either side. In no time, he'd fashioned a pair of rope handcuffs. He tied them off strongly. "There..." He muttered, his hands working their way up to Sam's hair again. He pulled back on his scalp suddenly, exposing Sam's neck, before nipping into it hotly. Sam shouted testily, adding a self-realized, "Fuck." at the end of it. 

Crowley chuckled into his skin. "... How's that?" 

Sam gaped, breathing trembling slightly. "...Yeah." He husked, testing the rope. Despite the luxurious smoothness against his skin, the silk knot didn't budge at all. Sam suppressed a shudder. He was way more sensitive than he was used to without sight. He could smell Crowley’s cologne and feel his warmth, but it was like a haze on his senses rather than a beacon. He felt naked despite still wearing clothes. Well, some of them. 

Crowley's nips soon became even lighter, until eventually, just his breath brushed over Sam's skin. His neck. He nipped lightly down on the lobe of his ear, sucking it gently. Then, he breathed a soft stream of cool air over it. All in the same breath, he chuckled quietly, his voice nearly soundless as he whispered against him. "... That's good." 

Sam had just been relaxing a bit, letting the arch in his back rest on his hands (it was hard not to melt with Crowley touching him so softly, every touch and breath electrified by Sam's own sensitivity), but then he felt Crowley somewhere else entirely: Sam's zipper was lowering, his pants slowly pulling down his thighs. Fuck. Sam exhaled softly, trying to relax again. He was already getting hard.

Crowley growled low in his throat, his voice a little further away again. "You're so receptive, Samantha..." He cooed, the pants slipping off his ankles and falling somewhere away from them both. Soon after, Crowley's hands were brushing back up Sam's skin, a longer length of smooth, braided silk rope trailing behind it. Up Sam's leg, his side, over his chest... Then Crowley was slipping it back around Sam, just around his torso, knotting it tight at his waist just above the band of his boxers. Sam wasn't sure what to make of the rope tied around his waist, but then Crowley was adding more. Sam's breathing slowed.

"So... I've been painting this picture in my head… since last night... " Crowley's voice picked up again, reverberant and hot as it worked its way around Sam, mirroring the path of the rope. It pulled around his torso again. Another smooth knot, layered on top of the last. "... And every time I sent out another order... or signed another report... and drew up another search notice for our dear, missing Winchester... Hm..." The rope twisted over Sam's abdomen with another knot. The knots were building one on top of the other, layering a stiff garment over Sam's tanned skin. And Crowley continued piling them as he spoke. Another twist around, another slip of silk, another knot, another layer. 

Sam felt the silken bonds wrap and smooth over his skin, while that equally silky yet gravelly voice coaxed all those sensations down to his boxers. Sam shifted as his bonds became more complex, expanding the image in his head, until he couldn't move anything between his neck and hips. Crowley continued: "And... the whole time... I kept telling myself that there was no feasible way a that a human... A human, Samantha... would look so delicious wrapped so tight in rope... But, oh... darling." He pressed a kiss in the hollow of Sam's sternum, and with a quick, solid tug the moment after... Crowley had tied his last knot. The rope that remained drew up the center of Sam's upper chest, Crowley tying it behind Sam's neck solidly. He'd built a corset of rope, and it pressed in against Sam's abdomen and drew up just under his chest in a tight hold. Not enough to constrict breathing, but it embraced tightly against his skin. Crowley spread his palm flat over Sam's hip, drawing it up to feel over the lines and lines of rope, then over his still-exposed chest. "You, darling... are quite the treat." He continued, twisting Sam's nipple as he hummed pleasantly in his throat. 

Sam exhaled sharply, flexing, but he only felt the rope tighten around his chest. It gripped him in all the right places, making sure he felt everything. Sam tipped his head back stubbornly. What Crowley was saying shouldn't have made him feel so good, but it did. Knowing Crowley had been thinking about him, knowing he'd been planning this, been picturing Sam like this while he was in Hell... Sam gave a half grin, half pant, feeling his length perking up, "I didn't know the King of Hell was so distractible." 

Crowley slipped his thumbs beneath the elastic waistband of Sam's boxers, feeling the smooth skin along his hips. "Oh... There's plenty you don't know about the King of Hell, sweetheart." He cooed amusedly. Sam was about to egg Crowley on, but then his boxers were being yanked off in a single tug. Immediately, Crowley slipped his hands up Sam's naked legs, observing his exposed nudity. Sam really didn’t have the strength to talk back. 

"Hmm...." Crowley buzzed. "Such... a pretty picture..." He paused, groping his thighs. "But... something's missing. Don't you think so, Sam?" The flats of his palms dragged down the fronts of Sam's hips... slow. Sam shifted his feet nervously, tied up in that arched, exposed position. But then... Crowley’s touches were gone. Sam was left alone, nothing touching him but the pull of the rope, tugging against him with his every breath. 

Sam breathed through thin lips, trying to move, but the only leverage he had was under his ass and shoulder blades, "What?" He bit the bullet. It was becoming harder to calm himself every time Crowley left. Figuratively and... literally. He couldn't see, but he was pretty sure his erection was jutting proudly between his legs.

Tick. Tock. Tick. 

The library clock was far more conversational than Crowley in that moment. 

But all too suddenly, Sam's legs were being grabbed, bent at the knee and tied-- both at the same time, by some means. The rope slipped around calf and thigh on both legs, wrapping tight around them six times or more. Another rope slipped in a little higher on both legs, wrapping around and around the space just below and above knee.

The resulting picture: Sam's legs wrapped tight, calf to thigh, forced to bend and forced very open. Exposing every intimate part of him easily to the air. And to Crowley's sights. "Oh... That's it." He purred happily. "I think ...that's what we were missing, love."

Sam gave up his attempts to control his breathing as he realized the position Crowley had put him in, "Oh my god..." He gaped, trying to move his legs away from his body, to close them, anything. The responding force of the silken ropes holding him tight sent a wave of chills throughout his body, mingling in his most exposed parts. His chest heaved beneath the ropes, hips shifting anxiously, "Crowley." He husked. Sam needed to know where he’d gone to.

Only, Crowley didn't give him any immediate solace. Again, the clock spoke for him. 

Eventually, Crowley, amazingly... was removing the tie around Sam's eyes. Sam tore his head away in surprise. In front of him was a hand mirror. "Now," Crowley began, "I thought you might like to see what you look like, Samantha..." Crowley introduced, letting the reflection the mirror revealed roam down Sam's body. First the rope binding his chest, holding him tight, his erection--so proud as it was, and finally, his legs, tied together, spread apart, and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Sam blinked at Crowley, shifting uncomfortably in the mirror. Fuck, he was turned on. Where did Crowley even learn this stuff? Demonic boy scouts? Crowley flipped the mirror down. "Beautiful. Yes?" He let the rhetorical question hang in the air between them, lowering himself to hover just above Sam's chest, staring up at him as his breath brushed over him. Finally, though, Crowley dipped down again, nearing Sam's lower half. He straightened up. He was holding something behind his back. "I'd love if you watched this part, Sam. This time... I'm going to give you your real gift. What I'll be letting you keep... for a very... long time."

Sam flexed anxiously in his bonds, expression opening up, "What... what are you doing?" He finally voiced, his tone heavy with heat.

"Hmmm..." Crowley hummed, letting his eyes wander all over Sam's tied, hard body. After a few moments of just looking, they rested at Sam's arousal. His gaze flicked up. "... No." He began, his voice like velvet. 

No? Sam's eyebrows pulled up in confusion. 

"Not yet. You have to ...earn your gift first." And just like that, whatever was behind Crowley disappeared. Instead, his hand, slick with some substance, slipped over the very exposed rounds of Sam's ass, feeling him there. Sam’s eyebrows fell back down, and then… shit. Crowley was slipping past his entrance over and over again, never breaching, just putting the smallest amount of pressure, making Sam’s muscles twitch again, and again. "Do you think you can earn it, Samantha?" Crowley buzzed, still teasing, still holding Sam's gaze with his own. 

Sam gaped, pulling his expression back in to a near growl as Crowley made his whole body shudder and twitch with every pass, "Tell me... tell me how." He breathed through his teeth. He didn't give up his gaze either, even as it grew deep and hazy with want.

Crowley's brow rose in interest at Sam's tone. "... You'll see." He responded. Then, quickly, he was leaning forward and tying up Sam's blindfold again. And once it was secured, his hands returned to his body. Dragging the slick substance over his chest. Over his arms... then Crowley's touch disappeared. 

Sam's breathing shallowed, once again unaware of what was going on. 

When it finally reconnected, it was right at Sam's entrance, a finger slipping smoothly inside of him, and Sam’s body shivered in arousal, "Ah...!" He gave a pent up, nervous exhale. "Interesting choice of words..." He breathed, losing his breath shortly after and resting his head on the table, just trying to endure the trembling sensation.

Immediately after the comment, Crowley was curling his finger up into Sam's body, expertly finding the area he knew would drive Sam wild. He pulsed there firmly. "Talking back even when I've got you spread out exactly how I want you?" Sam gritted his teeth, a whine escaping him as Crowley persisted. He arched off his hands, head tipping back until Crowley took his finger away, twisting it and opening Sam up in another direction. "Fiesty as always, love."

Sam panted, laying back down, "I know you like it." He accused.

Crowley purred. He actually purred in amused response, low in his throat. "You know ... far too much." That was when his finger left Sam, but not for long. Soon, it was returning-- right alongside another finger. Both of them pulsed hard into Sam's prostate, Crowley’s body leaning over Sam’s as his breath ghosted over him faintly. 

Sam moaned, like he'd been waiting for it. It was good. Oh, it was good. Sam almost whimpered, "Ah... fuck."

"So eloquent, Samantha..." Crowley cooed, twisting his fingers around again inside of Sam. With the next jolt, he moved his entire body, shifting the trouser-blocked shape of an excitement of his own into Sam's hips with the motion. "Why don't you keep it up for me... while I finger your ass... Open you up..." He nipped at Sam's chest, settling a line of nips and sucks up to Sam's neck. 

Sam didn't have to try to keep the eloquence up for Crowley. Crowley was all over him in the next instant and Sam lost all his stubbornly maintained self-control, feeling it slip from him in gasps and curses with every new touch and word. Crowley pulled hard on his hair again, twisting his fingers into its long length. "Mm... and pulling your hair, sweetheart..." A bite into Sam's neck, sucking it. He was marking him. "... Is that why you keep it so long?" Another strong pull, arching Sam's neck, pulling the top of his head against the table. "Do you like having it pulled?" Another pulse into his pleasure spot, hard. 

Sam growled his response: "Yes..." He groaned through his teeth, body arching against Crowley.

"Oh... That's good to hear..." He hummed into Sam's neck, biting him again as he pulled another time at Sam's hair. Below, his fingers were pulling back... then slipping into Sam again. Three this time. "Why don't you tell me... what else you like, love..." Crowley growled, nipping over Sam's skin between words, and pulsing into his prostate in time with them. 

Sam exhaled a moan. Oh god, he liked that. Wait, he was thinking it. Crowley wanted him to talk, but he wouldn't lay off that spot. Sam's lips were trembling, "When you... bite me... scratch me... " His mind was spinning, "...tie me up and... fuck! That!" Sam took a shuddering breath. Crowley’s fingers on his prostate was driving him wild, "Ah god! I've never..." His voice came to a halt, realizing what he was about to admit. Sure, Crowley had known he was a virgin (when it came to taking another man's dick), but he'd never experimented up there at all. This was overwhelming.

Crowley, positively glowing with everything Sam was exposing, suddenly paused. He pulled his lips back from a beautifully colored bruise right in the juncture of neck and shoulder. "... Why, Sam..." Crowley purred. "Never? Not even... just out of curiosity?” 

Sam's heart stopped when he realized Crowley understood. Every press and twist and dripping word from Crowley's mouth only reaffirmed it... and got several pent up moans from Sam. 

“You've never..." Crowley pulsed his fingers into his prostate again. "... You've never been touched here before me?" Another pulse, twisting his fingers around inside of him. "Oh... you sweet... sweet man..." In the next moment, the heat from Crowley's breath was shifting closer, moving up Sam's neck. Then it was right at his ear, his words everything and the only thing he filled Sam's blind world with in that moment. "You..." He began, heat dripping from his tongue. "... are sleeping with the perfect partner, darling."

Sam breathed through tight, shaking lips. He'd never told that to anyone. But his anger and embarrassment kept getting flushed aside by raw heat, washing over his body all at once.

He wanted to clarify: he never needed to experiment. His previous partners had appetites that were formidable and exotic on their own, and Sam's own pleasure in that particular area had never taken the spot light. He'd indulged in a lot of things he was sure would get him classified as a fucked-up, kinky bastard by Dean. But...

All of that went out the window when he felt something inhuman—indemon--against his ass.

Crowley's fingers had left Sam immediately, and something else was set in their place. A cool, hard plastic, thicker than just three fingers, slicked down and made of a material with just the right amount of give, was pressing slowly into Sam, making Sam’s thoughts stall, his breathing hitch. And before he could even summon it back, the object was entirely seated, and there came a click. Suddenly, the thing was vibrating, filling not only Sam, but the room, with a loud buzz as it hummed inside of Sam's utterly exposed ass. 

Sam's whole body lurched, held tight by the ropes, as a powerful shout of a moan filled the room.

"Awww... That's it..." Crowley whispered, pressing kisses into his neck as he slipped his hands low down Sam's body, feeling every pull and tug at the ropes with every lurch of his body, and kissing him softly at the neck throughout. "Just feel it, darling... I know it's intense... but..." He moved the thing inside Sam, sliding it out just enough... to press it directly into that happy spot inside of Sam. "... You can do it." 

Sam cried out at that press, tipping his head back because he needed those kisses, that voice, to keep him from losing his mind. He moaned shamelessly, his whole body undulating in that arch, "Crow... Crowley..." A moan, desperate, "I'm gunna come..." He whined, begging for Crowley's help. He couldn't come yet, it was too soon, and Sam couldn't control it. His dick hadn't even been touched and he could feel it welling up in his balls, overpowering his body in rough gasps and pants.

"Shh... shh, shh..." Crowley hushed, only pulsing the vibrator against Sam's spot in response. "You can control it, Samantha... you don't need to come yet..." Crowley's voice was insuring, doing otherwise nothing to change his own actions. Except... 

He pulled back from Sam's neck with one final kiss, leaning away from him for just a moment. When he returned, he was sliding his hand up and down Sam's thigh, feeling the ropes that bound him there, then smoothly, he felt in the dip between pelvis and thigh. He slapped the skin there, pulling it taught. Sam could hardly breathe, tearing up with the effort not to come. "... Daddy's just going to collect his deal's end in advance... Okay, love?" Crowley hummed. But it wasn't really a question. Soon, there was the prick of a needle, and Crowley was pulling back the plunger and drawing blood just inches away from where he was turning up the dial on an active vibrator. 

Teeth clenched, skin taut, Sam roared when Crowley pricked him (there of all places). The pain was amplified in his current state, and the increase in vibration undid all the efforts he'd just put in to controlling himself. He slammed his eyes shut, huffing and heaving, shaking in his bonds as his release began to expand in him, tantalizingly slow along every tensed muscle and silken rope. He kept trying to push it down, but he could feel himself leaking, untouched. He was certain if Crowley touched his dick or balls at all, he'd be done for, "Crowley." He called him in a huff. He couldn't do this. He couldn’t see. Where was he?

Again, Crowley hushed Sam, pulling the final, slow measure of blood into the syringe. The needle pulled out of Sam's skin just as, finally, Crowley moved the vibrator away from that sensitive spot within Sam. He dialed it down to low again, and with a careful hand, pressed it into Sam entirely, letting it buzz on low inside of him aimlessly, far from that pleasure spot. 

With a cry of relief (sort of), Sam breathed as the vibrations fell away, although not entirely. His release was slowly receding, the remaining vibrations keeping it alive in his core. The prick of blood at Sam's inner thigh was brushed away, and his small wound healed up not a moment later. And in the next, with Sam's ties still tight... the blindfold was removed. 

"... We had a deal, Sam." Crowley said over the low buzz of the vibrator (its bulbous end sticking out of Sam's readily exposed ass, legs bent and tied together so beautifully at his sides between all those expertly drawn ties and rope). 

Sam cast bleary, pupil-blown eyes to Crowley. He could barely think, but he understood.

Crowley himself, now for Sam to see, had his jacket off, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, and the sleeve rolled up to his elbow. Surprisingly enough, the green end of a dragon's tail curled into view over his skin from just under the rolled cuff of the sleeve. But his expression. It was like nothing he'd worn while being intimate yet. No smile. No air of mischievous intent or playful conduct... Just dark. Wanting. His eyes were so dark. 

Sam stared at Crowley like he was seeing him for the first time (did Crowley have tattoos?). He looked so strange in that moment. So... human. Sam watched as Crowley held up his end of the bargain, and Sam was suddenly so glad that sane, not horny-out-of-his-mind Sam had made it. He needed to see this. He wasn't sure why.

Without explaining himself any further, soon, Crowley was trading his front row seat view of an entirely wrecked and debauched Sam for a solid look at his own arm. He made a fist. And then, he was piercing his skin and pressing down the plunger of the syringe, his breath hissing and his eyes fluttering as he injected his unholy body with human blood. He sat back on the hard surface of the table, obviously relishing the moment-- sighing blissfully as the syringe emptied into him. 

Sam’s whole body warmed. He understood. Crowley was his. Even tied up like this, Crowley may have been the King of Hell, but he was Sam's. Sam didn't question it. He couldn't. It just felt so good, so intimate. The moment of human relishing and the sigh that followed was worth staving off that orgasm. Oh. God. He wanted Crowley. And it was the first time he'd admitted it to himself. He panted unevenly, his gaze waiting there for Crowley's, warm and revealing.

At last, what may have been nearly a minute after Crowley injected, his head tilted down, and the needle pulled out of his skin and was tossed aside somewhere else. Immediately, the injection spot healed, and with it, Crowley's eyes opened, and Sam found himself unable to look away. Crowley’s eyes were still dark, but the arousal he felt wasn't reflected there with cunning, demonic savvy. Instead, what shone in his eyes was true want and... maybe something just the slightest bit more. 

Without bothering to fix his clothing, Crowley slid himself up close to Sam, collapsing down on top of him. And the kiss that he pulled Sam into, it was messy and desperate, with nothing but a twinkle of the coolness they'd had just moments prior as he nipped at Sam's lip softly. 

Sam kissed him back in satisfaction, even as his body trembled and his lips shook. Eventually, he felt himself relax around the vibrator, letting those sensations take over like those lips on his, like that body on his, even the nip got a soft gasp out of him. Because then Sam was nipping him back, kissing and tasting Crowley in return, giving himself over to Crowley without a second thought.

Crowley moaned into Sam's mouth, gasping breaths of air between messy kisses. Soon, Crowley's hand was slipping down Sam's body, roughly feeling all the rope, the way it was tied... then not-so-slowly, Crowley's fingers were tugging at his belt. It jingled as it unfastened, and the pull of the zipper was loud between them. Crowley's body language seemed more desperate, and his kisses were soon laced with quiet moans: "Sam... Sam..." He breathed, trailing messy kisses down Sam's neck as his pants began to slowly droop. 

Sam would have loved to help. He really would've. He also would've loved to take note of the irony, but he was discovering that being tied up beneath a sexed-up, disheveled Crowley was one of the sexiest things in the world, and he was too blown away to care about anything else.

"Crow... Crowley..." He panted back encouragingly. Between the vibrator and Crowley's messy, desperate kisses down his skin, Sam was putty. 

With a couple more kisses and a nip and suck at Sam's collarbone, there was a ruffle as Crowley's underwear-- black, silk boxers, the only acceptable thing, really-- dropped to his knees. Only, when he moved to slip into Sam, something was very much in his way. Blinking, opening his eyes large, Crowley took note of the vibrator. With a grunt and a squint, Crowley ripped it out of him, throwing it. It landed somewhere on the floor with a thwap, still on. Still buzzing. Sam hadn't been expecting that. He shouted breathlessly when Crowley yanked the vibrator out of him, but he immediately understood what was going to happen. Crowley's hand, slick with leftover lube, grabbed himself, positioning at Sam's entrance. Sam panted, making pleading, encouraging sounds as he felt Crowley lower himself between Sam's hips. Then, without any further prelude, he pushed inside, all too fast and yet perfect, making Sam's legs shake and his back arch, a hot moan tumbling off his lips, “Crowley..." Sam groaned, "Yeah... oh, yeah..." 

Crowley groaned, letting his eyes find Sam's as his hands gripped his hips, slowly sinking himself all the way inside of Sam's body, until hip was meeting well-exposed hip. "Oh... Sam... so tight," he whispered, not letting his gaze go. His eyes were blown wide. 

Sam took a shuddering breath. Crowley was so deep in him in that position, Sam could hardly see straight, his length leaking in bliss, "F...fuck me, Crowley." He rediscovered that gaze, expression blown open in need.

Sam didn't need to ask twice. High with need and want and emotion, Crowley took that suggestion easily.

"Ah... Mm," Crowley grunted, shifting his hips back and slamming them back into Sam all at once, making Sam moan hotly. Then again. And with every additional thrust, Crowley was picking up his pace, his breath heaving just the slightest bit more audibly, the rhythm taking over Sam’s brain. "Oh, bloody-- Sam," Crowley groaned, finding Sam's eyes again as he began to rut into him, in and out. And soon, as a result of that intense gaze... Crowley was slamming his lips over Sam's own, reinvigorating that messy kiss from earlier, only with a little more passion as he continued to thrust into him with his every move and suck of lips. He hummed greedily against his lips. "Nm... good... So ...good, Sam..." He spoke between kisses. 

It was like he was speaking a completely different language than before, stirring Sam's arousal as well as his passions, and when Sam returned that kiss, it was hot, heavy, Sam gasping and humming his pleasure into those wonderfully ravaging lips, "Mmm...yeah...oh, Crowley..."

Soon Crowley's lips were leaving Sam's, and as they did, he slid his hands over Sam's spread legs... then held in at his hips again, his pace quickening immensely. Sam moaned in satisfaction. Every thrust jolted through him like lightening, licking his body along every line of silk rope holding him arched and spread. Crowley's hips sunk in so deep, and he so big, Sam had never felt so claimed. Crowley's forehead dropped to Sam's, his breaths hot and audible against Sam's face as he thrust into him quick and hard. And with the slight shift in his positioning, he was slipping over that spot inside of him over and over again, grunting slightly. 

Sam shouted in ecstasy, "Ah! Fuck! Yeah!" He groaned Crowley's name over and over again, unable to stop as his release began boiling again from deep in his body, his length weeping, untouched. 

Crowley's hand was sneaking up over Sam's side, his neck, then up into his hair. With the thrusts only getting stronger, demon strength still very much at play, he tugged. He tugged hard, biting and sucking at Sam's throat, claiming him entirely. Sam writhed in ecstasy, feeling every inch of him exposed and taken. The sounds echoing through the library were positively lewd, nude flesh slapping against nude flesh, Sam moaning breathlessly as he felt his mind washed away in overwhelming pleasure. And all the while, drilling into that spot of Sam's. Crowley hissed Sam's name against his neck before biting him all over again. 

Sam’s moans turned to harsh whines and pleas as his release began to come to the surface, his whole body shaking and trembling, "Crowley... Crowley....gunna come..." He breathed helplessly, voice hoarse.

Those words, as promising as they were, seemed to snap Crowley back for just a moment. A moment long enough for Crowley to, between thrusts, let his lips pull off of Sam's neck. He looked down at him, breathing hard, but his voice was molten. "... Come, Sam." He breathed, his low growl of a voice just loud enough to cut over the background of slapping and sex. "... Come." And with that, Crowley's thrusts became nearly deliberate, snapping into Sam in just that right spot, with all the pressure and energy he'd been holding out on.

That switch in focus got a guttural moan out of Sam, Crowley hitting that spot repeatedly, speaking to him in that molten tone. And despite all of Sam's focus and self-control, he was so wrecked that he couldn't do anything but shout out his pleasure as it flooded him, bursting white and hot all over his body and the silk ropes. His orgasm leapt through immobile muscle and arched spine, making Sam cry out in overwhelmed ecstasy, coming hard between them for what felt like minutes, until he was speechless and trembling in his bonds.

Soon after Sam came, Crowley did, too. With one, strong thrust, he was embedding himself entirely inside of Sam, spilling his seed deep within him with a long, satisfied groan. 

Sam nearly whited out as Crowley groaned and filled him in that position, spiking the end of Sam's orgasm until he was trembling and raw.

Then everything went still. 

Silent. 

The echoes of their orgasm had faded, and the faint, distant buzz of a vibrator getting low on battery was the only sound that remained. 

Finally, Crowley collapsed on top of Sam, breath audible, his head on Sam's chest. Slowly, lazily, he lifted his hand away from Sam's hip, raising it slightly into the air. He snapped his fingers. Distantly, Sam felt the ropes tying him immediately relax, freeing him in every place he was constricted. The ones around his legs and hands slipped away easily, slithering away to rest somewhere else on the table like sunning snakes. The ropes around his chest, though--not so smooth. Crowley growled slightly to himself as he pulled at them under his body, encouraging them, as Sam lay limp and pliable to Crowley’s touch. It felt good, feeling Crowley free him with his own two hands as Sam was still coming to. Soon, those ropes, too, were entirely gone from Sam's body, leaving him very nude. And with that accomplished... that was it. Crowley wrapped his arms over Sam, one curling up into his hair, holding it gently.

Sam was going to say something, he didn't know what, but with Crowley collapsing atop him and gripping his hair, he sighed in satisfaction instead, spreading his arms and legs for the first time in what felt like an hour. 

And... Crowley may have pressed a soft kiss against Sam's nude chest before closing his eyes. Lightly, he breathed atop him. 

It hardly fazed Sam. It felt good... human. He rested his hands on Crowley's arms, gripping them lightly as he dozed in and out for a few minutes, waiting for Crowley to rouse him with some sly, annoyingly witty remark... in that deep, breathy growl of his... that always sounded so good after sex. During. Before. Wait. Was Crowley asleep?

Sam glanced down, his own gaze foggy, but it was enough to confirm his suspicion.

Crowley was asleep.

On top of Sam.

Inside of Sam.

Sam swallowed.

Maybe if Sam hadn't just come so hard that he was still seeing stars, he would've tried to move him. But having him there... it felt good. He'd never been much of a cuddler after sex, but he'd also never been tied up and fucked by the King of Hell. So Sam allowed himself a small, human moment, hardly able to do much else, and continued dozing in and out, just... recovering. Because having the King of Hell all to himself, that felt better than good. That felt... right.


	10. Dean and Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel deal with some hopelessly devoted convention-goers, and some just-plain-hopeless feelings of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love for all of the commenters on our last chapter, as well as all of the supporters and readers who have been following this story as it has developed. You all rock! So hard!
> 
> Now, on to the latest Destiel.

Castiel and Dean landed hard beside the Impala in the parking lot of the McDonalds. Castiel had been aiming for inside the car, in the passenger and driver's seat respectively, but instead, they were on the ground. Dean felt a surge of surprise as, from out of the middle of a giant crowd, very suddenly he was on harsh pavement with all of the breath out of his lungs. And what was more, Castiel was on top of him. Dean hated himself for dwelling on it, but damn... Castiel had squeezed his ass on that flight over, probably just on accident, but parts of him were still dimly intrigued. Before he could think too much, Castiel began to cough hoarsely, unable to stop.

"Cas," Dean mumbled, blinking as Castiel rolled away. Dean sat up, rubbing the back of his head. "Are you... shit, are you okay?" He asked, following him with his eyes. A coughing fit. It wasn't something he could ignore anymore. Dean picked himself up to his knees, moving to Castiel's side. He couldn't bring himself to touch him though. His hand hovered over his shoulder, undecided. 

"Dean." Castiel coughed, looking over his shoulder at him desperately, "Get in the car." He urged him, even though he couldn't seem to get up, crumpled on his hands and knees as he slowly got his breath back.

"Cas..." Dean muttered, looking over his broken form. Shit... "Cas... come on." He muttered, moving closer to him as he ignored his words. "I'm not getting into the car..." Dean watched Castiel for several more moments. Cas was so torn up. He was so convinced that something sinister was going on with those dweebs that he'd put himself in some sort of danger. Hadn't he? Shit... "...Hey," And with a long, gasp of a moment and a bite of his lip Dean blew out his breath. 

Fuck it. He settled his hand down on Castiel's shoulder, pulling himself in front of him. Pulling himself closer. "Everything is fine..." He muttered, holding his shoulders gently and looking him in the eye. "Shapeshifter wasn't back there. Those people aren't threats... all right?" 

Castiel held back a cough, looking him worriedly in the eye, "Dean.." He tried to reason with him, but... "I don't... understand." He muttered, clasping his hands over Dean's for stability. "Who were those people?"

Dean's eyes flicked to Castiel's hands. He felt his heartbeat flutter. "They're... um," He sucked his lips into his mouth, chewing on them nervously before responding. He was reacting to Castiel in such an annoyingly visceral way. "... They're just kids dressing up. You know... those books?" He offered. "The ones about me and Sam? They were written by that prophet guy a while back." 

Castiel's eyebrows came together. "Yes, I know the gospels." He replied. "You're telling me..." He rasped, "That all of those... people... have read them?"

Dean smiled. Why was that cute? "Yeah. That's what I'm saying." He answered. "And apparently, they like 'em enough to want to dress up as me and Sammy... and you." He laughed. "... Pretty stupid, right?" 

Somehow, Castiel looked even more perplexed. But, he seemed to understand that they weren't a threat at least. Had he really just used up some of his grace for... worshippers? "Dean." He looked up at him, his hands still idly grasped over Dean's, "What's UST?"

The way Castiel asked that, staring up at Dean so... innocently. Oh, shit. Dean didn't even know what it meant... but that wasn't stopping the stiffy that was suddenly making itself known in his pants. 

A loud whistle sounded from the direction of the long line into the McDonalds on their left. "Woo!" A female voice whooped suggestively. "Destiel!" It was the group from earlier, the females now forfeiting their spots at the end of the line to wander over to the two men tucked in on the ground between the cars.

Dean snapped his hands away from Castiel's shoulders, standing up in a single, awkward huff. He cleared his throat. 

"Hey, don't stop on our accord! Go ahead," A Meg Masters was speaking up now, winking at Dean knowingly. "Go on ahead!"

"I... I don't know what you're--"

"Dudes!" The FBI Dean, running over and relinquishing his own terrible spot in line. "That disappearing act you did.. so awesome! I didn't even see where you ducked away to. You had me convinced! That was straight up angel mojo!" 

Castiel rose slowly from his spot behind Dean, looking ruffled, but no longer murderous, "Dean." He spoke quietly in his ear, "Do they think... we are also worshippers?"

Dean shivered. Enjoying Castiel's breath in his ear just a little too much. He turned his head so he could speak into Castiel's ear instead. "Yeah... I guess you could say that." Dean whispered. But with his blood far from cool in his body, speaking like that so closely. Ah, shit. Talk about inappropriate places to get turned on.

"Ooo... Whispering sweet nothings!" The Sam from earlier was back, quickly taking out a cell phone and snapping a picture of the two so close. Castiel cocked his head.

Dean blinked. His rage flared. "Hey! What the... !" 

He snapped the phone out of the Sam's hands. Two could play at that game. He ran just beyond the Impala, mumbling to himself as he tried to figure out how to delete the picture. The Sam giggled, following him like it was a game, before stopping in her tracks. 

Everyone stopped.

"Holy mother of the Ghostfacers..." 

Suddenly, all of the attention was on the Impala.

"Shit! Shit...! You guys are like super fans, aren't you?" The FBI Dean asked, running his hands over the car. 

"... They've even got the license plate... the second one, after the whole jail time thing... It's completely canon to when Castiel is around... Wow..."

And as the flock began to migrate, Dean blinked. He forgot about the phone, a roar in his voice. "Hey... Hey, hey, hey! Leave Baby alone!" He yelled, ripping fake Winchesters and demons off of the car. "She doesn't need all your grimy hands on her!" 

They even knew about... the car? Castiel sighed, being swarmed by supporters in the wake of the Dean. This was not an ideal situation in which to find a shapeshifter.

"So, uh... where did you two meet?" A girl asked.

Castiel didn't even look at her. "In Hell." He stalked over to Dean. "Dean. We should go." He muttered to him, eying everyone around them strangely.

"Working on it, Cas!" Dean yelled, pushing another pair of hands off the hood of his baby. 

And just as Castiel was about to close in on Dean, a similarly trenchcoated, short, female figure with a dark cropped wig stepped between them. She nodded to him, a smile on her face. "Did you make your coat?" She asked, observing the tailoring silently. 

Castiel stopped, looking down at her oddly, "No." A pause. She was... dressed just like him, "...Did you?" 

"Yes." She responded. Though she didn't go on. She only looked up at him, giving a tiny smile. Slowly, her smile dropped. She stared at him, her own expression suddenly mirroring Castiel's. She tilted her head.

Castiel tilted his head as well, like some sort of bizarre heavenly sign language.

"Cas, come on!" Dean yelled, finally slamming the driver's side door behind him after scooting the last cosplayer away. A girl who looked oddly a lot like Jo. "Stop playing with yourself and get your feathery ass in here!" 

Dean's voice snapped Castiel out of it, "Coming." He called, giving the girl one last odd look before turning away. He paused, then turned back to her. "What's UST?"

She blinked at him, her smile returning softly, though she remained calm and still. "Unresolved Sexual Tension," She answered simply. 

Castiel considered it blankly, "Thank you." Then headed back to the car.

He got inside, slamming the door on an eager looking demon with a camera.

With the car closed up and the key in the ignition, Dean threw the car into reverse, their posse of onlookers parting for them dutifully. With smiles on their faces and flashes of pictures the air, they applauded as the Impala drove away. Dean merged into traffic, which had by some miracle, opened up a space for them. 

"Damn," Dean cursed, blinking in the view of the busy traffic before them. "... Glad that's over with." 

Castiel agreed silently, watching the scenery pass. He was still trying to process everything that had just happened. In the midst of the silence between them, Castiel spoke up.

"Unresolved sexual tension." He mumbled.

"What?" Dean asked, turning to Castiel momentarily with a confused expression. 

Castiel glanced at him, "Unresolved sexual tension." He repeated, looking back at the road, "...It's what UST means."

Dean's eyes were still squinted with confusion. He returned his sights to traffic, trying to make sense of Castiel's sudden insight--not that he didn't expect something like that out of nowhere, but--

Oh. That's what those kids said about he and Castiel. Dean felt his face go red. "... Ah... um," He cleared his throat. "... Let's find that shifter. He's got to be around here somewhere--"

"Oh my god, are you two LARPing Supernatural right now?" 

"What the--??" Dean slammed on the breaks. Though it wasn't a huge move, considering traffic had returned to a crawl amidst all the bustle of nerd con. 

The wigged, dark haired Sam popped her head between Dean and Castiel, a wide smile pulling over her expression. "Hey, I know you two are Destiel, but you need a Sam if you're hunting!"

Dean blinked back at her. He looked back to the road. "What the hell are you doing in my car?" He threw back. 

She laughed. "Dean," her smile disappeared. "I'm your brother. That's why."

"Get the hell ou--"

"Do you even have silver in here, Dean?" She muttered. "You need to have it on you. The shifter could be anywhere among this crowd."

"I just..." Dean blinked. The traffic began to move again. "...What?" He was shocked. "You know how... to hunt shifter--"

"Dean, let's stop this game. We need to get going if we're going to get this thing. Now," She huffed, shifting her hair out of her face. "Now, where was the last place you saw it?"

"I... ah..." Dean blinked. Shit... was... this kid actually a hunter? He couldn't speak. 

Castiel seemed to have run out of surprised expressions. He sighed, considering the possibilities, when he spotted something in between the seats in Dean's car. He picked it up.

Castiel pressed a silver quarter casually to Dean's forearm.

Dean's confusion was maxed out as well, and he blinked at Castiel almost hopelessly. Then, "I'm not a shifter, Cas, come on," He snagged it away from him. Then he looked in the rearview mirror. "Hey... Sam," He said the name with some annoyance, forcing it out. He held the quarter up in the air. "Your turn."

She looked up at the quarter. Then, with a great sigh, she pressed it against her hand. Nothing. "You happy?" She muttered with all of the bitchiness of Sam. 

Dean raised his brows, impressed. He had to give her that much.

"...All right." He nodded. "Guess we'll have to get out and... search the crowd." He looked over at Castiel with a sigh, but a glint remained in his gaze. Castiel caught it… and he suspected he knew what it was about. Castiel kept his trenchcoat closed and close. He had to protect him. 

"Great. I'll keep the silver with me."

"...Great." Dean echoed with a smile, beginning to look for any street parking at all. 

Castiel let the girl take the quarter, even though he still wasn't sure who she was. That wasn't what concerned him. 

Just as they were about to pass another bit of parking, someone was pulling out. Immediately, Dean threw on his turn signal, watching them struggle as they tried to escape from the parallel parking. He sighed, making eye contact with the 'Sam' in the back seat. 

"Hey, would you mind running out to make sure this parking space isn't nabbed by anyone else... Sammy?" He gritted his teeth saying the name. "Maybe you could stand in it or something."

The Sam's eyebrows rose. "...Sure, Dean. Yeah." She opened the door, getting out and moving to the sidewalk to watch the other car struggle.

The second she hit that pavement, though, Dean smiled, waving at her through the passenger window as he blew right in front of the struggling car, leaving her in the dust. "Bye, Sammy!" He called, chuckling to himself even as she ran down the street after them for a block. He kept laughing, taking a side street and moving on right past all that traffic. She was gone. And Dean was laughing merrily all the way.

Castiel was indifferent to his strange tactic. Except...

Castiel stared at Dean, "She had the silver." He stated plainly.

Dean looked at him, unfazed. "Aw... come on, Cas." His gaze was back on the road, he took another side street, which was just a jog away from the main road. "I've got a lot more old quarters where that one came from. Let her have it." 

Castiel seemed to take that as an answer, because he dropped it. Although, after another few moments, "Where are we going?"

"Motel," Dean answered, pulling off the side street onto the main road. By that point, it was a little less populated. "We should probably regroup... Map out the sewers." He sighed. "That's where they like to hang out. There's no use trying to find him out there... in that." 

"I suppose you're right." Castiel said. He didn't have a particular desire to return to that... church... anyway.

Suddenly, something came to him, "Dean, what's... Destiel?"

Dean's brows lowered, observing Castiel silently. He looked back out to the road. "... I don't want to know." 

"Hm." Castiel thought about it. Maybe that was for the best. He still wasn't sure what 'unresolved sexual tension' was, anyway.

Castiel watched Dean silently all the way back to the motel.

 

\---

 

Dean had been intent. Once they'd returned to the hotel, he'd managed to track down a bunch of old city planning documents online, and together with the written updates on the city website's blog, he'd managed to recreate a general layout of the city's sewers. It took quite a while, and so it was already dark by the time they went out to explore. Where he and Castiel had started their exploration, though, flashlights and silver in hand, they'd struck out big time. Hours had gone by. Hours. Dean checked his watch, and it was well past midnight... Human Dean had to sleep. He rolled his eyes. Well... at least they could get out of the stink.

The second the door to the motel room opened, Dean was stripping off the casual shirt he'd changed into earlier that afternoon and kicking off his shoes. "Damn..." He complained, sitting hard on the bed as he pulled off his socks. "Looking all afternoon, no damn shifter, and I don't think I'm going to get the stink of day-old diapers out of my nose for a week." He stood, unfastening and dropping his pants without a second thought. 

Castiel had shut the door behind them, but when he turned back around, Dean was half naked. Again. Castiel eyed him distantly, "Yes, I could use a shower myself." He voiced, looking away. He usually just angel cleaned his vessel (a quick close of his eyes and he was back to normal), but Castiel was a little... hesitant about using more grace, especially after the embarrassing escape earlier. Luckily Dean wasn't asking about it. Although, Castiel wasn't asking about Dean's burst in the car, either.

Castiel found his eyes drifting to half-naked-Dean again, replaying those words in his head. He may not have known what Destiel meant, but he knew what horny meant.

Dean looked to Cas. He looked down. Shit. He was getting more and more naked in front of him by the day. He hadn't meant to, he just... did. 

"Yeah, well..."Dean shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, tucking his hands in under his armpits and crossing his arms. "... Why don't you then?" He backed up to the bed, sitting down as he pushed his pants into a pile of dirty clothes to the side of the wall. He knew Castiel didn't need to shower, but... whatever. Maybe he just wanted to feel a shower again. They were nice to have sometimes. "You take it first. I've been hogging all the shower time recently anyways." 

"Right." Castiel thought about it absentmindedly. He moved his gaze away from Dean. But before he went to the bathroom, "Um. Here. " He grabbed the white plastic bag out from under the TV table and handed it to Dean. It was heavy, "You really need to eat, Dean." He said, knowing they had more pressing matters on their minds. But, it was important. 

Dean's brows knitted together, busily looking the bag over as Castiel turned the bathroom lights on. "Um..." He began. "... Thanks." The door was already closed. Dean blinked his sights away from the bathroom, looking into the bag. 

Inside, there were some plastic spoons, and a few cans of condensed chicken noodle soup. Dean stared for a moment before he recalled the night before, eating all that salt, feeling his stomach upset in the weirdest acidy way... Telling Cas that humans ate chicken noodle soup when they got sick. 

Dean felt his heart lurch. He just stared down at those cans... and he smiled. And damn, if it didn't feel good to smile like that. Dean didn't even care that it was technically condensed. He popped open one of the tabs, grabbing a spoon, and dug in. He slurped a spoonful gratefully. It was shit like this that he just... really freakin' liked about Cas. Gestures that he didn't even get from girlfriends, or-- 

Right before his thoughts got dangerous, Dean felt his mouth burn. Really, really burn. "Ugh...!" Dean sputtered, spitting the soup right back in the top of the can, running over to the weirdly out-of-bathroom sink to spit the rest into the drain. He sucked down a mouthful of water, then another....

Shit. Salt. So much salt. 

Dean set the soup can down on the countertop, leaning on the sink. Just... shit. More than any shitty diner food, he ... really wanted to eat that.

Looking down at the can in disappointment, he huffed a sigh. Slowly, he dumped the broth down the drain, running the water as he did so. Stuffing a couple tissues inside of the can to mask the untouched noodles and chicken pieces, Dean threw it out in the garbage can under the sink. For some reason, throwing that out had hurt. He really felt like he'd just betrayed Castiel, and damn... Just... Damn. He hung his head, standing shamefully at the sink. 

Just, really. Fuck this demon thing. 

Luckily, Castiel already had the water running, and hadn't heard the sink turn on or off. He'd figured out the shower pretty quickly, undressed, then gotten used to the feeling of being naked in a shower again. It felt nice. After a while, Castiel wanted more, so he took the soap and shampoo and cleaned himself off. He'd forgotten how intricate the human body was. He hoped that the almost enjoyable resurgence of human vulnerability wasn't a result of his grace, but deep down, he knew the truth.

Dean, busy wallowing, hadn't noticed it when it happened. But seconds later, he recognized that sound. The crisp sound of falling water. Cas had turned the shower on. 

Another part of his brain took over for him, and in that moment of shame and hate for himself, he allowed it. He used it to escape from his bad thoughts, allowing it to take him over. It showed him the image of Castiel undressing. Cas letting that trenchcoat hit the ground. Kicking off his shoes and peeling his socks off. Taking that suit off one piece at a time and letting each fall to the floor, fingers gently unbuttoning that always-crisp white shirt of his and pulling on that tie, hands drawing him closer, chest to chest...

Pressing kisses into his neck and down his shoulder as Dean unbuttoned his pants. 

Dean's eyes snapped open. He became acutely aware that he'd begun lazily stroking himself through the thin material of his boxers, and with the mirror right there in front of him, another thing was clear. His eyes. Black. 

Dean blinked, snapping them back to normal as a burst of breath climbed through his chest, wheezing from him as his body began to go crazy. Heating and frightened and denying all at once. Emotions of gratitude and shame and regret mixed with arousal and want--dark, thick want that ripped through his being to his very core, compelling him. Forcing him to act...

... Cas was right through that door. 

Dean saw the next few moments in flashes. The doorknob in his hand. The bathroom open and steam billowing from the shower. His boxers kicked off and thrown on top of Castiel's shed clothing. Then he was pulling the curtain back, and Castiel was there before him. Nude. Entirely, gloriously nude. The curtain snapped back into place as Dean climbed into the shower, and before he could stop himself, he was pushing Castiel back against the cool shower wall. 

Oh. This wasn't a daydream. 

This was real. 

He could feel Cas's skin, warm and wet from the shower, against his own. His heart pumped heavily as he pressed the lengthening measure of his excitement against Cas's hip. But that was it. He just... panted there, staring into Castiel's eyes. 

Oh shit. 

What had he done? And why... why did Cas's skin feel so good? 

Castiel wasn't sure what was going on, but he was pretty sure it wasn't normal for two people to shower together. The shower was very small.

"Dean..." Castiel murmured, feeling his hot skin against his, his... erection against Castiel's hip...

Oh.

Dean was horny again.

Dean was starting to have a miniature melt down inside of his head as the fog lifted from his senses. But unlike in the recent past, when this fog lifted, Castiel didn't go away. He was real. This was real. He was naked with Cas in a cruddy motel shower, and more than that, he was pressing against him. He. Was pressing against him. 

Shit shit shit.

Dean tried to will himself to move, but he was frozen in terror. How could he play this off? This wasn't him... This just wasn't him.

Castiel's eyebrows came together curiously, warningly, his wings frilling out beside him. Dean could've been a shapeshifter. Maybe he just really wanted the shower, or he didn't like the soup. But, Castiel was horny, too. So with the water beating down on his naked, human body, he did what felt right in that moment. 

He touched Dean. 

His wet hands moved up his arms, his shoulders, cupping his face in the heat of the shower. He couldn't look away from those green eyes. So he kept his open, moved his head forward, and kissed him.

Before Dean could get himself to do anything in that tiny shower--run away or make an excuse or anything that made sense at all--his attention was drawn by Castiel's touch. ...What? Dean felt his skin heat again before he could think it through. His blood was flowing and his mind was strung out and entirely confused, and amongst all that confusion... Cas was kissing him. 

Fear bubbled up in Dean for a moment. A true, honest fear that he hadn't felt in some time. This was really Castiel. 

Castiel, the angel who was always there for him, the buddy who didn't understand hardly anything at all. The presence who, for so long, embodied more than just angel and man, but... something more. Soon, Dean's eyes were closing. 

His body acted for him as his thoughts began to mellow to facts, Dean's hands crawling over Castiel's shoulders and holding tight around his back. Suddenly, he was kissing back, Dean's lips softening as he began to move them fluidly over Castiel's. He enjoyed the feel of Cas's lips. His pulse picked up as he ran his hands slowly down Cas's spine, feeling him. Just kissing him... That felt so... good. 

Castiel's eyes finally closed, realizing that Dean was kissing back. That meant Castiel read the situation right; That Dean... enjoyed it, right? He didn't see any other alternative. So Castiel let himself enjoy it as well. He kissed Dean back, following his lips and enjoying their feel, their... taste. He'd only ever kissed one person before. He hadn't realized that people tasted different. Dean tasted so familiar, yet new, and it opened up all the new sensations he was feeling. It was very enjoyable. Castiel's hands moved back down Dean's arms, holding him close in the water as they kissed, feeling his skin, his lips, the heat against Castiel's thigh, Dean's hips pressed into his. Even Castiel felt different below. It was all so pleasurable. Castiel wanted to know what Dean smelled and tasted like all over. So when their lips came together again, Castiel parted his lips curiously, tasting Dean gently.

Cas's hands against Dean felt so different. The grip wasn't slim and light like a woman, but a little heavier, with just the smallest bit more force just by nature. And that alone was sparking instinctual things in Dean that mingled harmoniously with the pull of his demonic nature, making him want more. And he didn't even need to initiate it. Castiel's lips were parting of their own accord, and Dean moaned softly into his mouth as he reciprocated without thought, lips parting to taste Castiel in kind. As their kiss deepened, Dean felt himself back Castiel further against the shower wall behind him, his hands leaving the angel's back to travel curiously down the flat, muscular plains of Castiel's front instead. That was different. Cas's body wasn't soft, but under the rush of the shower, he could feel along the rising tone and definition of his chest. His abdomen... Dean's hips were leaning into Castiel's to hold him flat against the wall as his fingers went roaming, and even though his mouth was busy maintaining that curious exploration of a kiss, another quiet moan slipped out into it as Dean's interested length met up with Castiel's, pressing in against it. Oh... that feeling was so new. And more, more, more was the only thought that echoed in Dean's brain. 

Dean tasted good. Very good. And his moans were making Castiel's feathers raise. But when he felt Dean's warmth honed in on the source of Castiel's, Castiel's breath hitched softly, pausing that curious, almost chaste kiss. He moved his hands down Dean's body, eager to feel more of that warmth. When he reached Dean's backside, it was almost instinctual. He gripped Dean's butt and pulled him close, bringing their hips, and lengths, together. The sensation was so gratifying that when Castiel resumed the kiss, he opened it immediately, tasting Dean without hesitation. His taste on the inside was even better than Castiel had imagined. His eyebrows pulled together, holding Dean's backside as he moaned softly into the kiss.

"Amm... Mmit," Dean groaned what were probably words into Castiel's mouth, his breath hitching as Castiel moved him like that, rutting their ... dicks together like that. He melted a little against him, the sensation so new that he relinquished to Castiel's lead. He panted through his nose as he continued the kiss, the kiss that was suddenly getting heavy. Dean sucked Castiel's lip heartily, his skin so flushed that it alone pounded with sensitivity. He let his hands wander off of Cas's skin in favor of flattening against the wall, holding himself up as his hips rutted forward into Cas's hips again, searching for that feeling. Then back, pressing his ass powerfully into Cas's grip. Shit, he loved the feel of that. He liked it when his ass was grabbed. 

Castiel repositioned his grip as Dean rutted like that, slowly, but guiding him to do it again, and again. He liked it. He didn't know why, but he liked it. He liked Dean sucking on his lip, he liked Dean's body against his, his ass pressing into his hands, he liked the sounds Dean was making and the words he couldn't get out, he even liked the water running down his body, touching him everywhere. Castiel was quite blatantly making out with Dean, grabbing his ass hard so he would grind into him against the shower wall.

Dean panted into Castiel's mouth, his chest rising and falling as it pressed into the flat plane of Cas's with every rut and jab against him. And Cas was encouraging them, leading them as he gripped hard at Dean's ass. And that, taking charge--shit... why was that hot? "..Mmn...mmuck.." Dean breathed into Castiel's lips. But he couldn't force the concentration needed to keep on with that amazing kiss any longer. He moaned out of it, grabbing on to the angel's shoulders roughly as he pulled their bodies together, settling his head beside Cas's and breathing hot against his neck. "Oh, fuck... Cas," He moaned softly into his ear, following Cas's pace as he rutted against him, reduced to the level of a horny, horny teen. 

Castiel continued placing lingering, tongue-infused kisses all over Dean's neck and shoulder, tasting his skin, his sweat, smelling him... he didn't remember the woman he'd been with affecting his senses so. But Dean... he couldn't get enough of him, "Mm..Dean..." He muttered. It was supposed to be a compliment, but Castiel couldn't take his lips off of him to finish. His hands squeezed Dean's backside encouragingly, not willing to let go of such a good thing, not while his body was buzzing so pleasurably, aching in such a good way. There was probably something else he was supposed to do here, but he couldn't figure out why he'd ever stop doing this. 

Dean panted against Cas's neck, pausing his rutting for just a moment. With his thoughts out of the way, he picked his head up in that pause, just looking over Castiel's expression. And seeing him all... flushed and messed up, that sex hair of his finally taking on the context it always suggested... He shuddered out a sigh, picking his hand up from the wall and running it over Castiel's shoulder. "...Shit, Cas..." He breathed, slipping his digits down over Castiel's chest, working it down between their hips as his gaze locked with Castiel's own. And in a flash, Dean was sucking in a sturdying breath, pressing his lips back to Castiel's in a needy kiss. Hesitantly, he took both his own and Castiel's heated lengths into his grip.

Oh. That was slightly better.

Castiel's eyes closed, kissing Dean back with a staggered breath. That. That was what was missing. Castiel stopped pulling on Dean's backside and just gripped him close, chest rising and sinking a little more with each breath as Dean touched him. As he touched both of them. Suddenly Castiel was much more aware that it was their lengths heating up together, and that made Castiel feel even better... and confused. How would they... Oh. That felt good. That felt really, really good. Castiel gave a small but gruff moan, wings fluttering up and around them, "Dean." He sounded, as if giving him permission to go on.

"Oh..." Dean gasped between kisses as soon as he heard Castiel say his name. "...Fuck." He liked that. He wanted Cas to say that again.

His hand, moving slowly just moments before, still getting used to the feeling of another dick in his hand, pushed against his-- Cas's dick, fuck-- it began to speed a little more. Dean's grip became firmer. He broke the pressure of the kiss, leaning his forehead against Castiel's as he stared down at his hand. "Cas..." he panted. The friction was so foreign, but it was amazing with the water cascading around them, everything so slick and--

"Shit!!" Dean's hand released its hold, his body jumping away and out of the very suddenly freezing-ass-cold water.

And that's when it hit him. Out of the spray, but still behind the curtain of the shower, Dean was faced with the utter reality of his situation. With his brain no longer clouded by demonic lust and... whatever, it hit him hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

His thoughts buzzed: 

He'd just made out with a dude. But more than that, it was Cas. No, shit, he'd more than made out with Cas -- that was, like, undeniable foreplay, touching-- a shared hand-job... He had been getting close to fucking coming. And shit, Cas was just standing there, the shadows of his wings flared out and huge around them, his human body nude, flushed, lips swollen and so, so obviously erect-- just looking fucking ...amazing. 

"Sh... shit..." Dean shook his head, his eyes huge, backing himself up a step, before knocking the backs of his legs into the wall of the bathtub and slipping, knocking right into the form of Castiel's wing. He could feel it now, a little more than just a warmth, like the feeling you got when someone's hand was hovering right over you, threatening to make contact, but not quite-- but it actually helped to keep him from face planting on the slippery floor entirely. Shakily, he straightened back up. And after he finally took his first real breath in what felt like a century... he ran. 

Dean threw the shower curtain aside and bounded out of the shower, running across the tile flooring bare-ass naked. The bathroom door slammed behind him. 

Still dripping from the shower, he paced frantically around the room, moving back and forth between beds, to the door, back to the bed. He caught a glimpse of his bag on the chair. He leapt for it. Fear and denial gripping him harder than he could admit despite the size and speed of his steps, he ripped through his bag. Quickly pulling on a pair of jeans without stopping to dry off. Or, at least, he tried to make it quick. With the water still clinging to him, and the undeniably still-partially stiff woody he was sporting, it took him a few good tries to pull that rugged material on. He got them just past his ass for a third time, trying his fucking hardest to shove his cock in without getting super uncomfortable when he fell to the floor on his ass. "Fuck..." He cursed, arching his hips off the ground so he could finally hike the things up to his waist and fasten them up. His shirt shouldn't have been tough to get on, but fuck it all, his hands were shaking like leaves. "Fuck.. fuck," He cursed again, louder this time, as he got his arm stuck in a sleeve in the weirdest way. He tried to work it down, but it just wasn't going right.

Nothing was going right. Nothing at all was fucking going right.

In the distance, the shower water turned off. And after a few long seconds, the bathroom door opened.

Castiel was fully clothed, his hair tussled and wet, and was staring down at Dean strangely. It wasn't exactly the sight he had expected to see, but he was already apparently so uninformed about sex with men that this could've still been a part of it. He tilted his head.

"Dean?"

Dean froze. Sprawled out on the floor with his second arm halfway through his sleeve, he looked up at Castiel through the neck hole of his shirt with large, fear-filled eyes. 

He breathed. He forced himself to. Then he closed his eyes, pulling himself up to a sit on the floor while he finally got that shirt on over his head. Carefully, he stood up, smoothing out his shirt. "... Cas." He said in return. But he had no idea what else to say. What could he say?

Shit, this was so awkward. "...Um." He huffed, drawing his hand down over his face. He couldn't look at Castiel. He had no idea what he was supposed to say after that. ‘Hey, that was pretty nice in there. Sorry I didn't yank one out of you, I just wanted to ...’ 

He didn't even know what he wanted anymore. 

Castiel blinked, examining Dean's shirt, "Um. Your shirt is..." He stared, "Backwards." He continued to stare, his erection still visible beneath the material of his pants.

…

"Oh." Dean looked down at his shirt. It was. He cleared his throat. "Um... yeah." Choosing not to search for eye contact for at least... ever, Dean took a breath, and pulled his shirt off again. He twisted it around in his hands for a few seconds, righting it, making sure it was going to go on right. But then just before he was going to pull it on again, he looked up. Castiel's fucking blue eyes were there to meet his. "Fuck." He whispered in curse to the air, dropping the gaze and pulling the shirt on unceremoniously over his head once again. It was inside-out. 

...Castiel was beginning to realize this was no longer part of the sex.

He took a step forward and put his hands on the hem of Dean's shirt, pulling it off his head in a gentle but certain motion. He looked at it, folding right side out, right side forward, then put it back over Dean's head.

Dean hadn't noticed that the shirt was on wrong again. So Dean flinched, closing his eyes as he raised his hands over his head. He kept his eyes closed, his body tense.

He was expecting to feel hands on him again, so when he felt that shirt again instead, the thing moving over his arms until it was replaced on his body, he opened his eyes. Oh. Cas was just.. righting it. He released his breath, returning his arms slowly to his sides as, hesitantly, he found Castiel's eyes again. "... Thanks," he choked, barely able to get the words past the lump in his throat. 

After that, Dean just... stared at Cas. He didn't know what else to do. He had no clue at all. Some manner of seconds or hours later, Dean dropped his gaze. It fell on the shape in Castiel's pants. 

"I should sleep." Dean's words were out of his mouth before he could think about them, and he was turning on his heel and heading for the bed before he could stop himself. 

"Dean." Castiel called him in a very similar fashion. His wings were still frilled and big, expression deeply focused... but confused, "I... don't think I understand." He rasped. Maybe this was a part of Dean's 'sickness'. Maybe it was the First Blade. Castiel wasn't sure. But, he'd promised to watch over him. He looked to Dean, "Do you... want me to join you?"

"No." Dean responded too quickly, pausing where he stood beside the bed, his back still turned. Shit. "I mean... just..." Dean sighed forcefully, grabbing a pillow and the comforter from the bed. "I'll take the floor." He grumbled, throwing the pillow down and laying his head on it while he cuddled up against the wall. He pulled the comforter up over him as far as he could without suffocating himself, and stubbornly, he closed his eyes. He was uncomfortable as shit, but... 

He couldn't 'sleep' on the bed. And he couldn't get himself to ask Cas to... do anything other than lie on the bed. And fuck, if he wasn't grateful for the first time that he had to pretend to sleep. It gave him an excuse to get away from Castiel and just... his mind started racing again. He couldn't ever do anything like that again. Even though he fucking... thought about it still. Shit. 

After a few long seconds passed, Castiel's footsteps approached the bed. There was no rustling of sheets, however, because Castiel was bending down beside Dean, and picking him up. 

Still engulfed in his thoughts, Dean was rattled when he felt hands on him. 

Fear rolled through him. Shit, shit, was Cas...?

No. He was being lifted. Shit, he was being lifted! "Cas..." Dean warned, shock slamming him again as he felt all control of his feet give way. Just before he started to struggle seriously, he was being set down gently on the bed. Castiel lay Dean down on the bed with the comforter, then added the pillow. Dean sat up, the pillow landing on him. 

Castiel walked over to a chair beside the door, "I do not need to sleep, Dean." He sat down there, "If you do not want me with you, I'll wait here for the night." He said, looking oddly resigned, like he'd failed something.

Still ruffled, Dean observed as Castiel sat in a chair. And as he spoke... something in his tone gnawed at him. But he couldn't admit that to himself. 

Feeling a slam of energy and anger and all sorts of other shitty things overcome him, Dean wasn't about to argue. He was afraid of what he'd do if he did that. Biting his tongue, Dean slammed his pillow down beneath his head, and slammed himself down into the mattress. He pulled the blanket up again so Cas couldn't see him, and he couldn't see Cas. 

In a few minutes, Cas would think he was asleep, and Dean would be closing his eyes and thinking about anything other than Castiel, forgetting about their encounter and the angel in the hours that would come. 

Except, when his eyes did close, Castiel was all he could think about. 

Fuck. 

Castiel didn't leave again that night. Despite the fact that it felt like Dean wanted him to, Castiel didn't. It made his gut turn over endlessly, feeling that way. He couldn't explain why. But he used that to stay even more committed to his promise: to watch over Dean. He'd done so much damage in his life. He wasn't going to spend the last of his days failing the one human he cared for most. He waited patiently by the door, finding his eyes settling on the empty soup can in the trash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, Player 2 has entered the game... and has promptly rage quit. Castiel is confused. ;n; Seriously, these two are stressing me out, bro.
> 
> Anyway! There will be another Mooseley chapter up tomorrow. Maybe that will help quell the sting. A little. <3


	11. Sam and Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Crowley deal with the aftermath of the previous chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for 1000 hits! :D We are celebrating with pieces of pie and confetti. In further celebration, have another chapter! Yay!

What must have been an hour later, Crowley... woke. His eyes squinting in the bright fluorescent light of the library, he slipped his hands off to the sides, pushing himself up carefully. He'd passed out. No, he'd slept. Right on top of a drowsy Sam after quite the round of intercourse.

It was the blood. If it hadn't been for his deal with Sam to stay, he wouldn't have acted so disgustingly... human in front of him. But then again, he also wouldn't have experienced such a delicious orgasm. And overall experience.

However, the fact remained: he was still inside of Sam.

Carefully, he slipped out of him, and he wasn't surprised at all to find that, in addition to the lube he'd been so generous in using during their experience, he was coated in a layer of Sam's blood. Sam had been injured during the throes of their very human ecstasy. Not something Crowley ever did without being very purposeful.

Sam came to for the second time that night. Just not because of the movement, but because... it kind of hurt. Sam made a short sound of discomfort, shifting his limbs.

As Crowley thought, the smell of blood filled the room, but Crowley averted his eyes, lightly snapping his fingers. The soiled evidence of it on his own body and clothing disappeared, as did another few choice fluids, from both he and Sam. His belt softly complained as he refastened his pants and smoothly hopped off the table to observe the damage. Rope surrounded a debauched, bleeding Sam. It was beautiful. In such a sinister, sexual way...

"Hm..." Crowley hummed aloud, his voice regaining its sly, cunning growl. Despite allowing himself to be carried away by such a sickeningly human moment... It really hadn't ended that badly. He brushed his hand over the nude plains of Sam's skin, observing him. Curious, and so willing to feel him again.

Sam passed a hand through his hair, collecting himself. He still felt groggy. But then... Crowley was stroking him, practically petting him, and Sam let it calm him. Except for the burning in his ass, he felt good. Even the ache in his limbs felt good - like the satisfaction after good hunt. He looked over to Crowley, neither frowning nor smiling., "What time is it?" He asked distantly.

Crowley, shirt still partially unbuttoned with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, smiled. A slow, molten grin pulled into Crowley's expression, his fingertips glancing down Sam's skin again, over his hip. "Shh..." Crowley hushed softly, his hand brushing lightly between Sam's legs again, his thighs. "It's no time for speaking, sweetie... "

Sam's eyes followed Crowley's hand nervously. What was he...?

Soon, his fingers had reached that tender spot, a small amount of new blood spreading its way around. And the moment they did, brushing over him there softly, the injury healed. Crowley pulled his fingers back, lifting them up to his nose. "Mn... Better?"

Oh. Sam's breath hitched, eyes closing in concentration. Crowley... healed him. He opened his eyes hesitantly, looking up at him. Somehow, despite everything they had just done, he felt embarrassed at that touch. He cleared his throat, then nodded, "Thanks." He murmured. The pain was gone completely.

"Don't thank me," Crowley cooed back, lowering his hands again, shoving one into his pocket. "... You earned it." For a few, quiet moments, all he did was look over Sam, observing him, still sprawled out on the table for him, so easy on the eyes...

He breathed in softly, raising his brows. "Speaking of which..." Crowley turned around, bending over to retrieve something. He straightened up, keeping it out of sight behind his back. "... I believe you've earned yourself a gift, Mister Winchester."

Sam eyed Crowley with as much apprehension as he could muster, but with how relaxed his muscles were, especially with that pain gone, he was more curious than uneasy, "What is that?" He asked skeptically.

Crowley's grin didn't fade. Instead, in response, he raised an empty hand. And he snapped his fingers.

The ropes were gone. The table was gone--the whole room, in fact. Instead of the unforgiving surface of the library table, Sam was sprawled out on a bed. And it wasn't even Dean's this time; it was his own. Sam did a double take around his room. It would take a while to get used to that. He was still naked though, and Crowley was leaning in. Sam still couldn't see the object behind Crowley's back.

Crowley stood over him with the same expression, eyes searching his still-naked body hungrily. He lowered down, the bed shifting as he settled his free hand on the side of him. He caught Sam's eyes. "How about a little more blood for me first, love? Hm... A little gift for me?" He purred, breath warm.

He watched Crowley's eyes, seeing the bloodlust there. Crowley wanted more...

That was it. Sam should've felt victorious. But instead, it made his body warm. Crowley was his. Sam's lips twitched subtly. Deciding he'd analyze that train of thought later, he relaxed beneath Crowley's gaze, laying an arm out by his head in invitation, "Only if you're good for it." He eyes glanced over Crowley. He couldn't believe he was actually... flirting with the King of Hell. But he was in a better mood than he had been in days. And god, it felt good.

Crowley grinned, Sam's response the most favorable one yet. "Mm... Oh, yes. You know that I'm plenty good for it, Sam." He growled back promisingly. He leaned in just a little closer, lips nearly brushing over Sam's as his voice dropped to a whisper. "What would you like for it? Any requests?"

Oh. That was easy. A small smile snuck up on Sam, almost deviously intrigued. He could smell Crowley's musk that close. He took a long breath, letting Crowley hear it, then sighed, "You have to show me what's behind your back." He eyed him purposefully, a hint of curiosity behind that marbled brown gaze.

Crowley's grin didn't falter in the least. "Hm. Well, then. I'll do more than that, darling..." He muttered. And in the next moment, he was letting the hand behind his back pull around to the front, and with it... he was running his grip over Sam's lax length. Before anything too exciting could occur, something cool snapped into place over Sam.

Crowley pulled back just a bit so Sam could see it: a metal, cock-ring-like device held at the base of his balls, though it was a little more lax and comfortable. But connected to that--extending from it, rather-- was a metal tube. It could only have been described further... as a cage. Thick, metal bars curved around the lax shape of Sam's length, perfectly fit to him, allowing him free range and space to urinate... but not much else. Certainly there was no room for expansion.

There was no way his cock could even think of getting hard while trapped in there.

And before Sam could do anything about it, Crowley snapped a miniature lock in place. It wasn't going anywhere. "... How does it feel?" Crowley purred, running his hands up the over Sam's hips, then up over his sides.

Sam's gaze fell to his dick in confusion. He was... locking him up. Shit. He was serious. Sam immediately examined the lock with his eyes. No key hole. Fuck. There went all his demon-hunting skills. This one had his dick in a cage.

Sam swallowed, "Um..." He shifted slightly, feeling it. It was comfortable, if that's what Crowley meant, "Fine." He answered. Was he going to have to wear that all night? Sam got a little shudder at the thought. He looked to Crowley with a bit more heat than he realized, "What is it for?" He knew what it was for, he just didn't know where Crowley was going with this. Or at least, he wanted to hear it out loud. This surpassed his sexual experience by a landslide.

Crowley straightened up a little more, inspecting it himself. He ran his finger over the curve of the cage, his eyes following, seeing just how perfect the fit was. "Well, Sam. I'm glad you asked." Crowley began, his gaze jumping up to meet with Sam's again. "... You know how all of your pleasure is mine? All of your orgasms?" He gripped the cage softly, touch coming into contact with Sam's skin in only the few places not obstructed by cool steel. Sam's breath stilled. "This little gift... it will insure that. It will keep you from playing with yourself... or engaging in anything sexual with anyone... unless I'm there to approve. And unlock you." He leaned in close again, slipping the flat of his palm up over Sam's abdomen and chest. "It will keep you nice and soft... and frustrated... Which will make you good and desperate for my cock when I'm around."

Sam willed himself to stay put. He scoffed nervously, "What? Do you think I'm some... horny teenager who can't keep himself under control?" Although honestly, if he hadn't just come, he'd already be struggling to stay down in the cage. This was... intense.

Crowley considered it, looking Sam over. "Hm... that is a good question." He answered, slowly sitting himself down on the bed beside Sam, his fingers casually tracing the shapes of his chest and arm. "Why don't you roll over... and we can find out." He purred, his hand stopping to rest casually by his hip. "Just be careful of that pretty new cage of yours."

Sam eyed Crowley hesitantly, not sure what that meant. Curiously, he moved to his side, shifting onto his stomach with a hand on the cage to steady it. It was surprisingly maneuverable. He settled his head onto his arms, laying on his front for Crowley.

"Good..." Crowley cooed, the bed moving as Crowley's weight shifted. And soon, that weight was moving over Sam. Crowley was sitting on him, body weight pressing in just below his ass. And before Sam could react, Crowley's hands were lowering down to the skin of Sam's back, slick with a warm, scented oil. Sam tensed in surprise when he felt those hands. But... oh. That felt good. Crowley’s voice was just as warm, projecting from him in a gravelly purr. "You're probably a little sore... aren't you, love?" His hands slipped easily over Sam's shoulders and back, pulling around in circles. Finding and working firmly through the knots. "The ropes can do that."

Sam relaxed a little, then a little more... He really was sore. And Crowley was really, really good with his hands. Sam finally relaxed completely, forgetting about the cage between his legs and focusing on those hands, a heavy sigh leaving him.

"That's it... just relax." Crowley purred, his voice soft as he continued to work firm, slow circles into Sam's upper back. He leaned down, speaking softly into Sam's ear as he continued. "... We need to keep you nice and limber..." He nipped his earlobe lightly, giving his shoulders a firm grab before slipping his hands down his arms, fingers still slick with oil. "... and ready for action." Another nip, this one a little harder, pulling on the lobe of his ear.

Sam listened distantly as Crowley massaged him. It felt even better the more he relaxed. Crowley made him feel simultaneously liberated and filthy, pampering him like that, talking to him like that, like he was Crowley's sex toy. And when Crowley bit him, Sam realized how much he enjoyed it all. It was a feeling he'd never achieved with his other partners. Sam tilted his head in his arms with a dark sigh as Crowley pulled and massaged him, eyes closed.

Crowley spent some time on Sam's arms, massaging them thoroughly, and when he reached his wrists, he ran his grip over them gently, softly working away the sting of the rope. It wasn't just arms that Crowley concentrated on in the way of limbs, though. Soon, his hands were slipping smoothly down his back, following the rise and dip of his spine, sliding over the sides of his hips, and moving down to his thighs. He dug his fingers into them, pulling down, following the run of his muscle a few times before swirling circles into thighs and calves. Near the end of it, though, his fingers dipped between Sam's thighs, getting very close to an even more intimate part of him. Then... they pulled up. And they slid over his ass, groping him firmly, not even massaging... before letting go and snapping a quick slap over his cheeks.

Sam had just been falling into a near meditative state with how relaxed Crowley was making him. That state didn't last long, however.

Sam exclaimed shortly in surprise when Crowley slapped his ass, "Hey!" He glanced back over his shoulder, his meditative state broken. He was... flushing. Oh. His length had been stirring in its cage with how far between Sam's thighs Crowley's hands had wandered, and with that ass massage that no longer seemed like a massage at all, "Would you...stop it?" He breathed, a hundred times less sure of himself that time around. He swallowed, settling his head back on his arms.

Crowley chuckled darkly, snapping the flat of his palm over Sam's ass just once more, and Sam’s muscles jerked. "Hm... That's no fun, Sam..." Crowley muttered, rubbing his hand warmly over his backside, groping him firmly.

Damn if that didn't feel amazing afterwards. Sam made a disgruntled noise in his arms, relaxing slightly again. Thank god, or... whomever, he'd just come, "You really think you're going to get me up again after... whatever the Hell that was?" He commented, voice husky. It wasn't a complaint. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had sex so bizarrely satisfying that he wasn't even sure what to call it.

"Do I think I'm going to get you up?" Crowley repeated Sam, considering the question weakly before chuckling. "... No. I don't think I'll get you up, darling. Not with that new gift of yours in place." He hummed, his gropes at Sam's ass becoming more controlled, more like a massage. He pulled in circles about him there, working deep into the muscle... Before pulling him apart and kissing him right over his newly-healed entrance. Sam's breath hitched, eyes closing in his arms. Crowley’s voice was soft and breathy as he spoke again. "... I'm just going to... rile you up a little... to test out your cage..."

When Sam finally released his breath, it was with a breathy, sarcastic, "Fantastic." He muttered. But his bite was gone. That ass massage... or whatever Crowley wanted to call it... felt incredible.

Crowley didn't even seem to listen to Sam's commentary. Instead, with a smile on his lips, he nipped tiny bites around his entrance, bringing them up over the firm globes of his ass, placing a kiss every now and then. Those made Sam’s body hum pleasantly in his post-orgasm, post-massage glow. Although suddenly, right after planting another kiss at his entrance-- that time a little firmer, with a hum-- Crowley pulled himself up over Sam's body, grinding his clothed hips into Sam's ass with a firm grope and hold at his shoulders. He was hard again.

Sam... wasn't expecting that. His length twitched in its cage. He sucked in a hard breath. How... on Earth... was Crowley... hard again? Oh right. King of Hell. Sam breathed out in exasperation, looking over his shoulder, "Is that really necessary?" He eyed him sarcastically. Because shit, it was working...

Crowley snickered lightly. "Mm... I don't know. You tell me." Another grind, that one with a little more force, but slower, so Sam could feel Crowley's shape beyond the fabric.

Oh. Sam knew that shape. He knew it very well.

Sam turned away so Crowley wouldn't see the look on his face. Although it didn't stop his hips from moving a little off the bed with that slow thrust. Sam took a breath afterwards, "You're insatiable." He muttered. It wasn't a compliment. But at the same time, it was.

Crowley didn't miss that subtle roll. He chuckled low in his throat, brushing his lips against Sam's ear as he whispered. "... And you know how good for it I am, darling... So how about that bonus?" As his words trickled away, his lips touched down again, sucking and nipping gently at Sam's lobe as he massaged his shoulders.

Normally, Sam didn't like to feel like he was getting played. But this was a very special case. His eyes closed, feeling Crowley's hands, his lips and teeth -- yeah, he didn't mind this feeling at all, "It's yours." He turned his head over his shoulder to look nose to nose at Crowley, sprawled out on his stomach beneath him, "Just remember our deal." He said softly, but sternly, "I want to see it." He was adamant about that. He needed a way to moderate what was going on, a way to control it, anything. It had nothing to do with how disheveled and sexy Crowley looked when he injected himself last time. Sam swallowed.

There was hesitation on Crowley's end, his lips pausing their movements. Finally, after several long moments, he spoke. Just as cool as ever. "... I wouldn't dream of anything else, love." He cooed. His hands pulled down Sam's spine, massaging lightly. Then his fingers slid even lower over tanned skin, just glancing hips and thighs, before his weight disappeared from atop him. He'd moved to Sam's side.

Then came the pinch and bite of the needle, sliding into a vein at the back of Sam's knee.

Sam's mouth twitched, breath catching slightly, but it didn't hurt. He watched over his shoulder from his spot on his stomach, body still tingling from Crowley's hands all over him. He wasn't thinking about the metal around his length anymore, even though it was a little more restricting than before. His eyes were smoking over Crowley.

And when the needle slipped out of Sam's skin, its tube was filled with a brilliant crimson, the pinprick of a wound it left behind gone as Crowley swiped over it. Crowley sat back on his heels. Still dressed in only his black slacks and ruffled button up, he began rolling up his sleeve again, stretching out his skin at the underside of his elbow. "Sam," he began, his tone marbled with a peculiar mix of seduction and just a tad of what may have been annoyance. "... Turn over, sweetie."

Sam's eyes raked over him, and he did as he was told. He leaned onto his side, then lay back on the bed, the cage settling safely between his legs as he bared himself to Crowley. His eyes never once left him, daring him, curiosity mingled with anticipation.

Crowley took that dare, his eyes reflecting with a gleam of danger. And with the needle already positioned and ready to strike at his vein, his gaze didn't leave Sam's... as the needle pierced into his skin.

He pressed down on the plunger, eyes fluttering and darkening, his chest swelling with quickened breaths as the foreign, human blood mixed with his own unholy rush. And the whole time, even as the plunger squeezed out the final drop of its invading substance, Crowley kept his gaze fixed. He was staring into Sam's eyes. Letting him see ... everything. Every change, every pulse of pleasure and lift of oncoming high up until he'd tossed the needle aside, panting beside him. Want and desire and emotion invading his impenetrable demonic gaze. It swelled up through him, making him shake. Making his want for Sam entirely visible beyond what was normally an indecipherable front. Sam's eyes sparked, his own expression opening up subtly, hungrily.

Crowley looked... needy. "Sam..." He hissed moments later, a desperate whisper clinging to his lips. He was shaking.

Sam's chest swelled. He reached out, laying on his back, and pulled Crowley to him by the collar of his shirt, taking him into a deep, consuming kiss. Crowley followed Sam's suggestion, leaning over him and pressing into his body in a not-so-subtle grind.

"It's okay." Sam muttered heavily against Crowley's lips, kissing him with every breath, "I'm yours...I'm all yours." He tugged him close against Sam's naked, open body, putting arm around his neck in show of near dominant submission. Crowley was his. And in return, he was Crowley's.

Crowley’s lips worked against Sam's hungrily, barely registering his words as the air heated between them. He bit his lip, running his hands up into Sam's hair and grabbed fistfuls of it, pulling on it possessively. He didn't even return any words. He just kissed Sam. And kissed him. Rolling into his naked body and wanting to feel more. Eventually, he was reaching his hand between them, unbuttoning his shirt hastily until it was open entirely, untucking it from his pants before rolling into his hips again against the cool cage. His shape was even more noticeable. And the light smattering of hair on his chest tickled against the bare expanse of Sam's.

Sam sighed in satisfaction as Crowley lay into him, the bare expanse of skin against his. He helped it along, moving with Crowley encouragingly to get more of that shirt undone. His hands maneuvered between them, catching the last few buttons and working those open as well. He could feel himself heating up against the cool metal, but he didn't care. He tipped his head back and bent easily at Crowley's near-animalistic instruction, panting and slipping his lips against his at every opportunity, until he was getting the last button undone and tugging the remainder of Crowley's shirt out of his pants. He could feel Crowley's stomach against his -- the shared warmth was nearly overwhelming. Despite their... frequent encounters... Sam had never actually felt much of Crowley's bare skin, or seen him naked. Sam was pretty sure Crowley had seen more of Sam's nether regions than all his girlfriends and partners combined. Sam panted, catching Crowley in a slow but powerful kiss, nipping his tongue longingly.

Crowley growled against Sam's lips, abandoning them and going straight to the slight bruise he'd left at the juncture of Sam's neck not long ago. And he but into it, instinct taking over in a show of possession, deepening the mark with strong sucks and painful bites. Sam panted audibly at that bite, expression pained for a moment as Crowley left what Sam was sure would be a prominent hickey on his neck, but he didn’t stop him.

Crowley’s hand slipped back over Sam's body again, brushing in exploration over his hips... then he grabbed at the cage, moving it from side to side between them. Sam tried to keep up, but that… that felt incredible.

Crowley nearly gasped as he pulled his lips away from Sam's neck, staring down at him with darkened eyes. "Mm... What do you say about... donating just a little more blood, Sam?" Another strong kiss, pushing into Sam's mouth with nips, sucking Sam's tongue slickly. He panted between his words. "Just... a little more.. Hm?"  
"No. You've had enough." Sam breathed, trying to pull himself back together with another firm, open mouthed kiss.

But Crowley pulled away from Sam's lips before he could show any bit of possession. He was growling. That time, though, the growl was laced with less arousal, and more anger. His knee came down hard into the juncture of hip and thigh. "Sam..." He hissed threateningly, a strong, invisible force pushing him down into the bed. He was panting, needy, tugging his head back by the grip in his hair. "More..."

Sam gaped in Crowley's hold, doubting that cage would protect him from a well placed knee. But backing down wasn't an option, "No." He muttered firmly, "You'll get more later. That's the deal." He fought back, his intensity matching Crowley's.

Crowley released his frustration in a burst of a roar, tugging Sam's hair violently and releasing him in a slam against the bed. "No... no, Sam..." He grumbled defiantly... then sat back up on his heels, tugging his pants and silken underwear down to his knees in one pull, and hurdled Sam into a sit before slamming his head down by Crowley's impressive arousal with an invisible demonic force. His hand curled into his hair again, holding him there firmly with inhuman strength. "On your knees, Sam..." He growled powerfully. It wasn't merely a suggestion.

This was new. Somehow, Sam managed to get onto his knees in that position, staring quite literally open mouthed at Crowley's cock. His heart was racing after being tossed around like a rag doll by Crowley's inhuman force, his blood surging powerfully, but his fight instincts were side swiped by the other inhuman aspect of Crowley in front of him, and the impossibly large reality that it had been inside Sam's ass.

Sam's chest heaved, overwhelmed by the gravity and pure submission of the position. But he didn't try to get away. He didn't feel trapped. He was... turned on.

Crowley didn't praise him. He didn't even speak. As soon as he observed that Sam had obeyed, he was pulling him closer again, pressing the tip of his cock against Sam's lips, pulsing against them. Then, without even waiting or asking, he was prying Sam's mouth open forcibly, pressing the head of himself inside of his mouth. He hissed a sigh as the warmth enveloped the tip of him.

Turned on or not, that was a lot to take in. Literally and figuratively. Sam's hands immediately grabbed Crowley's thighs for balance, feeling his mouth open and Crowley, Crowley, settling on his tongue. Sam's chest swelled, eyes shutting tight. He couldn't move, couldn't do anything but taste. And... Crowley tasted good. Like the inside of his mouth but raw, heavy, fuller with the taste of his body and musk. And, getting a surge of desire to dominate him, to take him over fully and completely, Sam stuck his tongue out, moved his head forward and sucked Crowley's dick. Crowley's breath left him in a long, dark hiss as Sam began to pull back over his length, sucking him to the tip, and then again, like he was an ice cream bar melting on Sam's tongue. Sam's eyes flashed darkly up to Crowley.

Crowley gripped even tighter in Sam's hair, using it as a handle as he added his own strength behind Sam's movements. He bobbed Sam’s head over him just a little faster, humming darkly as he caught Sam's gaze. Not releasing it. Daring him to keep up as Crowley began to thrust lightly into his mouth, forcing Sam to take him a little deeper with every one.

Sam had to hollow his cheeks, but he didn't break that gaze for a second. His hands moved to Crowley's hips to hold him firmly, sucking him hard. Eventually, he wasn't pulling back out to the tip anymore, but bobbing deeply about Crowley's length, bombarding him with constant, relentless suction as far as he could go...

Which actually, wasn't that far. Crowley was starting to rub against the back of Sam's throat three quarters of the way in and Sam had to push him back to a more moderate depth to avoid choking.

Crowley's head tilted in curiosity. "Hah... Can't handle me, Sam...?" He breathed, reinvigorating his hold on Sam's hair and holding him tight, entirely still, stopping Sam's contribution to the bobbing. And just after he did, Crowley drew his hips back, pulling himself out to his tip... then slowly, he pushed himself into Sam's mouth, inch by inch, until he was seating inside of Sam's throat. "Relax... don't choke..." Crowley encouraged darkly, swimming in the feeling of that warmth surrounding him. He had almost pushed all of himself into Sam's throat, his grip firm and pulsing over Sam's hair.

It was that moment that Sam realized it was hard to retort with a dick in your mouth. He took that instruction, albeit a little bitterly, but soon enough he was able to take Crowley in a little deeper, then a little deeper, pulsing his dick with suction between Sam's tongue and the roof of his mouth. Then his throat. Still, Crowley was a little... overwhelming. Sam finally broke the gaze, brows furrowing, only to shut his eyes tight and slip Crowley into his throat through pure determination and self-control. He gripped Crowley tight, straightening his throat and sucking with every inch of his tongue, swallowing him over and over again as his lips reached Crowley's base.

Crowley breathed out strongly, closing his eyes, too, as he allowed the sensation to wash over him. "Ohh... That's it, Sam... That's it..." He hummed, seating himself entirely inside of Sam's throat. He pulsed his hips lightly, otherwise staying still to enjoy the moment for a few ticks of the clock. Loving the warm wetness surrounding him. Finally, though, he began to move. Not letting his grip on Sam's hair fade in the least, he pulled Sam back sharply as he moved his hips back, pulling himself out of Sam's throat... only to shove himself back in a little less carefully just a second later. Then he did it again. He shifted his hips back, tugging on Sam's scalp, then thrust in. All the way in. "Suck me, Sam... Mm, yes... suck my cock..." He growled, letting his eyes drift back down to capture Sam's beautiful image again. That valiant struggle of his alone, that was arousing.

That struggle only intensified as Crowley handled him so roughly. It wasn't Sam's fault Crowley was a fucking porn-star. Sam's expression screwed up as Crowley shoved himself in and out of Sam's throat by his hair. Sam's grip on Crowley's hips intensified, helping somewhat to moderate the force, but otherwise he just held on, sucking as best as he could. He moved his head with some resistance from Crowley's grip, not minding the pain as he ravaged Crowley's dick with his mouth with enough strength to take down a normal human. He was making quite the mess, not to mention a few guttural, wet noises with each sinking thrust, but he had a feeling Crowley didn't mind. His eyes flashed up to his roughly, not backing down.

Crowley was panting and humming to himself, eyes so dark and wanting as Sam's sights connected with his own. He smiled faintly. "Ah... So... good..." He mumbled. Then, almost as if he weren't aware of the full strain on Sam, his force began to pick up, meeting and exceeding Sam's strength. Both of his hands sank into the tangled mess of Sam's hair, slamming Sam's mouth over his hips with every bob and every meeting thrust of Crowley's hips. He growled intently, his breaths and pants picking up as the pace leveled out where Crowley needed it to be to make his pleasure surge. The human blood circling through his veins only making him more receptive to pleasure, and his undoing was getting close at hand.

Sam nearly choked, having to arch his back up to avoid Crowley stabbing him in the throat. With Crowley’s demon strength, he couldn't do anything to stop it. Except... Sam's grip on Crowley's hips, hard enough to leave deep bruises, moved to Crowley's ass instead, grappling him into a still position against Sam's chest as he buried Crowley's cock into his throat. He swallowed him whole, sucking him off as hard and fast as he could before Crowley could regain the upper hand and pull Sam off of him to resume thrusting. It was pure self-preservation. Well, almost pure. Sam's gaze was fiery, dark, burning into Crowley's as if willing him to come, sucking his own blood now flooding Crowley's veins into his dick and balls.

Crowley's hips stalled, happy to remain still if it meant such strong, intense attention to his arousal. He let Sam do his thing, his breath pulling from him in labored pants as his hips twitched, bucking just slightly back into Sam's hands at his ass before filling Sam's throat again. His gaze darkened as he went still, eyes rolling up into his head and closing as he tilted his head back...

Finally, weakened and needy from the human blood, a strangled groan leapt out of Crowley's chest, and his orgasm erupted heavily down Sam's throat.

Of all the things Sam never thought he'd do, taking the King of Hell's cum down his throat was pretty high on that list. And yet, there he was, swallowing it down like he'd been doing it all his life. He pulsed Crowley's ass, sucking and swallowing him through his rather impressive orgasm, the taste and smell mingling on the back of his tongue. It was surreal. And yet, not altogether unenjoyable. Sam kept it up until Crowley was finished, eyes prowling the plains of Crowley's body possessively, his light skin highlighted by a colorful coy dipping beneath the breast of his shirt. Sam wondered if anyone else had ever seen that, and the thought that they hadn’t gave Sam the extra push to swallow everything Crowley had.

Moments passed after that orgasm had subsided, Crowley still embedded deep in Sam's throat...

Then, suddenly, in his post-orgasmic bliss, and despite the second round of human blood swimming through his veins within a few hours... a moment of clarity came over Crowley. He looked down, catching Sam's eyes, observing the look he shot up at him. And he became nearly sober in recognition. Demon strength fueling him, Crowley ripped Sam's hands off his ass, pulled quickly out of his throat and was pulling underwear and pants up to his waist again in the next moment, refastening, clasping, and covering his nudity as he scrambled away from Sam. As he scrambled right off the bed. He pulled himself up to a stand, panting as he stared down at Sam-- wrecked, shirt open and disheveled-- and the realization that flashed through his eyes was unreadable. Other than the glimpse of fear that followed soon after.

Without cleaning up, not even bothering to redress himself, Crowley was gone. Leaving Sam alone, nude, and caged on his bed.

Sam still had cum on his tongue. He blinked at the now empty spot in the room where Crowley had been. Then swallowed.

Then coughed.

Sam wiped his mouth, looking around the room in confusion. Did Crowley just ditch him? But as he began to process what happened, that confused, nearly offended look soon turned to one of understanding: he had Crowley.

Sam massaged his throat deep in thought. For a brief moment he felt like the room had gone still, like he'd lost time again, but he ignored it. His throat didn't hurt anymore.

Sam got up, fighting back a small but sinful smile, and took a cold shower.

Crowley would be back. This time, he'd be the one doing the chasing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our next chapter will be posted in another week: another Destiel! In fact, as the case Dean and Castiel are investigating draws to a close, our next two chapters will be Destiel... but no worries, Mooseley fans, there will be much more Sam and Crowley to come. 
> 
> Thank you all again for your readership and support. :) Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Or perhaps to Sam's butt instead? 
> 
> I thought so.


	12. Dean and Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the appearance of an unexpected guest, Dean and Castiel's case comes to a conclusion - but the consequences remain far from resolved.

There were only so many times Dean could replay what had happened between he and Cas in his head. That's what he'd told himself when he first closed his eyes. But hours later, he found himself not unconsciously repeating it like what had happened at first, but willing it on. He'd changed several things over time, and by the time daylight was filtering into the room through the thin, old motel curtains, he had a full-on fantasy. In it, he had Castiel pinned against the very bed he was laying in, pounding his dick into that perfect ass, making him scream Dean's name loud enough that the next room over could put a name to the complaint that they'd call down to the front office.

Dean realized with a start that he'd had his hand stuffed down the front of his jeans, grasping himself firmly as the thoughts rolled into his head.

He jumped out of the bed with a frightened pant, trying his best to zip up his jeans again before Cas could notice. His glance flew over to where Castiel sat in the chair, expecting to see those confused eyes staring back at him... except they were closed.

Dean blinked. After quickly checking the time (6:46AM), and turning off his alarm, he covered the distance between them. Was Cas... sleeping?

"Cas?" He breathed, too intrigued to let his question go unasked.

Castiel sighed so softly that it didn't seem like he was conscious. But then, Dean's smell filled his senses, the taste of his skin and sweat replaying on his tongue. He swallowed, then opened his eyes.

He'd been asleep. Or at least dozing off.

Castiel's eyes opened more fully, brow lowering, as he saw Dean standing in front of him. He wasn't sure what to say...

"Dean." He rasped.

Again, Dean blinked.

Cas had totally been sleeping. There was no doubt in Dean's mind. He was about to question him when, shit... everything came back to him. He flushed, immediately turning his back and retreating to the opposite corner of the room, standing instead at the sink. "...Um..." He began awkwardly, picking up his toothpaste. "... Early start today, Cas. We've got to... track this shifter down." Before he needed to speak again, Dean shoved his toothbrush into his mouth, brushing maniacally. He suddenly realized standing so close that ...he had a taste that was undeniably Cas in his mouth.

Castiel didn't move. He just watched Dean standing at the sink, bending slightly over it. His jeans looked messy and slept in. Castiel, beginning to notice the precursors to an erection (the ones that mysteriously had nothing to do with women or pizza men, at least), looked away. He decided to get ready himself.

He stood up.

He was already ready.

Castiel stood there, looking a little lost for a moment, before finally just watching Dean again.

"Perhaps we should try the prison again. There didn't seem to be any evidence of a shapeshifter in the sewers." He said.

Dean smelled nice.

Dean didn't respond, he just continued brushing, leaning over the sink a little more. He really took his time brushing his teeth. Finally, he spat, running the water and cleaning out his brush. "Sure," He answered, slapping his toothbrush down by the side of the sink again. Honestly, he wasn't in a hurry to go patrolling the sewers again anytime soon. Nor was he looking for a shower in the immediate future. He could do without the images. "Just give me a sec and I'll be ready." He went on as casually as possible, moving to the closet and beginning to throw his suit pieces on the bed. He'd stripped his shirt off and had started on his pants before he realized it:

Fuck it. He was undressing in front of Cas again. And this time, he was commando with the remnants of a boner.

"... Be right out." He continued, grabbing his suit pieces and disappearing into the bathroom. The door shut behind him. And with a second thought... he locked it.

Castiel sighed inwardly.

While Dean was in the bathroom, Castiel checked his trench coat, finding the First Blade and his angel blade still there. He glanced at the empty soup can in the trash one more time.

And then, he disappeared.

A couple minutes later, and Dean was out of the bathroom. He'd taken some time to imagine old ladies in underpants and all the baseball players he even knew existed before he started putting his clothes on. And then he'd taken another thirty seconds to silently curse to himself as he realized that he'd forgotten to grab boxers. And then another forty seconds swearing out loud as he stood, fully clothed, with his forehead against the door in defeat because he would rather go an entire day commando rather than just go out there half naked to grab a clean pair of underwear.

Thoroughly done and over himself, Dean sucked in a breath, gave one last adjustment to his junk, and walked as casually out of the bathroom as he could.. only to find an empty room.

"Oh... come on, Cas!" He yelled, throwing an empty fist into the air out at his side in frustration. This day was going to be anything but easy.

It didn't take long for Cas to return however, and when he did, it was in confusion to Dean's aggravation. He looked exactly the same as when he left, except he had a newspaper under his arm. He offered it to Dean, eying him in concern, "I thought... you might want this."

Dean looked up, his face in full on, frustrated pity-party mode. Cas was right in front of him. With a newspaper.

"...Fuck me," Dean muttered under his breath. Before he realized that was not the thing to say at all, in any scenario the situation could have played out in. "I mean-- thanks," Dean snapped the paper away from the angel, releasing a pitiful breath to follow. "...Cas."

...

"Let's go." He said, quickly throwing his wallet and keys into his pockets and tucking the paper under his arm. He was out the door in the next second.

Castiel's inquisitive gaze didn't let up at that recovery. It followed him right out the front door and to the car as they made their way back to the prison.

 

\---

 

The doors to the main lobby of the prison swung open, and immediately, Dean saw desk guy's face. He was not in the mood. "Hey, we're back again!" He called, his annoyance audible in his voice. "Normally, we'd have this all solved and we'd be out of town by now, but I guess we've got a few more things we need to cash out here first."

The desk guy, for once, had a real expression on his face as he saw Dean. His eyes opened wide. Immediately, he stood, picking up the phone to mutter a few nearly inaudible words into the receiver. But they were just audible enough:

"He's here."

Castiel's eyes darted to desk guy and Dean's brows pulled together, a knock of uncertain danger thrumming in his gut. Instinctually, Dean felt in his suit pocket. But it was empty. The blade. The blade was gone. The danger he felt became immediate, but just before he could act in any way, two guards came running out of the doors on opposite sides of him. They jumped him, holding him from either side.

Fear and anger bubbled up inside of Dean as he realized what was happening, pushing through his guts and powering his arms past human strength. "What. The. FUCK!" He yelled, throwing one of them off him easily, and managing to make the other one unstable enough to stumble back.

Suspicions confirmed, Castiel made to grab his angel blade, but... these were humans. Just humans. That and... Dean was taking care of them pretty well himself. Really well, actually. Castiel's eyes flew to desk guy, "We are federal agents!" Castiel stormed at him.

Dean took the opportunity, ramming forward and heading for the door he knew wasn't guarded. And that's when, suddenly, even more guards entered into the gambit. They grabbed onto Dean's suit jacket, yanking him back, and in another moment's time, the first two were up again and surrounding him, joining the struggle.

"I demand to know what is going on!" Castiel bellowed.

Dean felt fear grip him, another burst of strength moments from ripping out of him... but that's when he caught Castiel's eyes. If he went any further, if he threw five people off of him without the bat of an eye, Cas would question it. Cas would figure him out.

That realization numbed him. And in the next moment, Dean was going limp. The guards took hold in the opportunity, digging hard into his arms. Alert, desk guy watched them, his phone pressed hard against his ear as the group approached an inner door.

Suddenly, Castiel's wings rose high, higher than the room, then fell down, knocking all five guards to the ground. All of the doors locked. He hadn't meant to do any of it, it was more of a reaction to seeing Dean attacked. But nevertheless, his head tilted dangerously at desk guy.

The desk guy's eyes snapped to the action, eyes widening slightly.

Dean, maybe moments ago, would have taken the opportunity to bolt, but he was too stunned by Cas in that moment. He'd seen Castiel's powers before, and he knew he was a frickin' angel, but hell.. seeing his wings get all big and dark like that for onc---Dean actually saw them in crystal clarity for a moment... that was new. The guards were out of their shock before Dean was out of his. And he jumped when hands grappled him again. The guards paused at the door, though. One pulled away, taking a moment to unlock it. (It shouldn't have been locked.)

"...Hey, don't worry," Dean called to Cas in the meantime. Maybe just for a second, he wanted to reassure him. "I'll be fine! Just... figure this thing out." Dean tried to smile. The door clicked to unlock, then slammed behind him.

Castiel wasn't sure why Dean didn't make a break when the guards fell, but, he trusted him. He eyed Dean sadly at that tried smile, no, it was more like... longing. He was going to get him back. Out of prison, he meant. Dean was his. Responsibility... he meant.

The desk guy finally seemed to breathe. He looked to Cas, darkness in his eyes. "... We're going to have to ask you, Agent Hawkins, to step into interrogation. The warden will lead you."

Then, as if on cue, a very ruffled warden stepped out of his office, sopping up the sweat on his forehead with the end of his tie. "Agent Hawkins," He began, looking somewhere between displeased and frazzled. "...Will you come with me, please?"

Castiel didn't seem to have many options. So he followed after the warden, eager to learn what in Heaven was going on.

In a few minutes, Castiel had been led into one of the private rooms on the other side of the jail. It was meant for agents and police officers to question inmates about their crimes, certainly not to inform angels of likely unwarranted suspicions. But there they were.

The warden sat down at the small table. He motioned to the seat across from him. "Agent." He said, barely making eye contact with him. Then, "Oh." He leaned back, clicking the red button on an already posted video camera. "Hope you don't mind if I record this... it's policy, you see." His smile looked genuinely apologetic.

Castiel made note of both items, then nodded stiffly, not taking his eyes off of the warden, "Why have you detained my partner?" He questioned, realizing what he had said after he defaulted to it. He blinked, otherwise unflinching.

The warden blinked up at him. All professionalism melted from his expression for a moment, concern and pity playing across his face plainly. "... You really have no idea, do you?" He asked. But he sat himself up straight, clearing his throat and hardening his expression as he went on. "Agent, where was your partner between the hours of midnight and 3AM last night?"

Castiel had to recall how human time worked. Oh, right. Midnight to 3AM. That was...

"He was..." Kissing me "with me. In our motel room." The shower. Naked.

Castiel stared the warden down.

The warden seemed to consider the answer he'd been given. He sighed. Quietly, he leaned over to the camera, pushing the red button again. A mechanical whirr sounded as it stopped recording. "...Agent, I know you want to do your best to protect your partner here, but..." He shook his head, starting over. "...I know you've got good intentions, but I don't want to get another good man fired for obstructing justice here today." He stared at him silently, apology written all over his face.

He leaned over and turned on the camera again. "Agent," He began anew, moving on to another question. "... would you say that your partner has anger issues?"

Castiel didn't fall for it, "What do you mean, another good man fired?" He asked, ignoring the camera, "Who else was fired here today?"

The warden prickled, looking back at the camera, then blinking at Castiel. "Agent..." He answered, his voice hushed. "... I'm sorry, but... It's your partner. I called up your boss as soon as I got news this morning. I was on my way to the lake house, and..." He shook his head, abandoning his rambling for once as he moved back on track. "He was fired on the spot. Your boss, one, ah..." He looked down at some papers, his voice returning to normal again. "... Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth..." He looked at Cas. "He assured me that he would be terminated immediately in lieu of other more serious disciplinary action. He's on his way here now... But we are to hold him until he's released to the federal government."

Castiel blinked. He took a deep, almost relieved breath, "I believe I..." Castiel glanced at the camera, "I have the right to remain silent, until our boss arrives. Mr." A pause, "Garth."

The warden sighed, too. "You're not under arrest, Agent Hawkins. But if you're unwilling to talk..." He tried to smile. "Maybe you can listen. I'm sure you're going to want to know this."

He picked up the folder in front of him, and carefully, he spoke. "Just after midnight on June 28th, a man matching your partner's description was seen acting out near a local convention..." He narrowed his eyes, reading the word slowly, "Ann-ih-mee... Central. Huh." He cleared his throat, touching his finger to the paper with each word. "Suspecting a drunk and disorderly, Officer Patrick questioned the man and asked for ID. The suspect proceeded to yell profanities, slur, and throw a badge at the officer. The badge confirmed his identity as Special Agent Thomas Lee. After he was asked to calm down, Lee proceeded to engage in a physical dispute with passersby. Agent Lee was unharmed, but the citizens sustained severe injuries despite Officer Patrick's attempted interjection." He looked up from the file for a moment, biting his lip. "One Daniel Roberts," he placed a picture on the table, "Cynthia Rhodes," another, "and..." the last one. "... Samantha Paige..." He cleared his throat again, obviously bothered. The last one was bad. "...were hospitalized after the altercation. Agent Lee escaped on foot while the officer remained with the injured and waited for backup and paramedics." He set the file down.

There on the table, the three pictures stared up at Castiel. And while the people depicted were no doubt beaten to a horrific extent, nighttime lighting doing nothing to make their faces clearer, their identities were certain: The FBI Dean, the Castiel, and the Sam cosplayers from their earlier encounter. They were all still in costume.  
Castiel examined the pictures darkly. He knew it was the shapeshifter acting as Dean. Except... he'd fallen asleep again last night. Just like the night before. Suddenly, a concern he had when Dean walked into the bathroom returned to him with blinding force. Had that really been Dean? Something aside from fear for Dean's safety pulled at his gut.  
The attacker had to be the shapeshifter. It had to be. Castiel looked up from the pictures stubbornly, not saying a word.  
"Look, I..." The warden breathed. "I know it's tough to hear, but as his partner... I know you're going to learn sometime. And it doesn't seem right that--"

"Warden." A guard interrupted the two, and the warden looked back. He held up a finger, indicating that he would just be a moment. He and the guard disappeared outside of the room.

Finally, the warden re-entered, a piece of paper in his hands. "I... don't normally allow things like this, but... here." The warden slipped the piece of paper across the table to Castiel. It was in Dean's handwriting. It read:

What was that douche across from Thompson's cell in for? Tell me ASAP.

Suddenly, there was a spark in Castiel's eye,

"Now... I've got two files here with me..." The Warden prefaced. "One is for a Martin Kelley, and another for a Frankie Yorke." He looked up. "Would you happen to know if either of these two names fit the description written on the note from your partner here?"

Castiel answered promptly, "Frankie York." He waited.

The warden slapped a file down on the table. "There. Frankie Yorke -- all the information we have on him. I'm willing to let you bring this to your partner... if," He pressed his hand down over it, protecting it. "... if you're willing to help us get a confession from him. He's being a little... belligerent. And a confession is just going to make this a lot easier for all parties involved when it goes to trial."

Castiel stood up, a glint in his eye, "Deal." He picked up the file, not even checking it first. He looked at the warden seriously, "I'll also need a quarter. At least fifty years old." He had a plan.

"Um..." The warden blinked at him, his confusion obvious. "... Sure, we can... see what we can do about that."

Several minutes, and quite a few searches through change buckets and desk drawers later, the warden was leading Castiel to the next room over. It was a perfect mirror match of the one Castiel had just been in, the only difference being a pacing Dean Winchester stuck in the middle of it. The warden had agreed to let Castiel in with his 'partner' alone, so long as they kept the video camera recording.

Dean looked up from his feet as Castiel entered the room. "That was quick," He blurted as the door shut behind Cas. Dean blinked, impressed, but still quite visibly annoyed and stirred up. "You got the info?"

"Here." Castiel passed him the folder, glancing at the camera.

With the folder in hand, at least Dean had stopped his pacing. He stopped at the table, opening it up and spreading it out. Though he still stood. He shifted between a few papers before he found it. Then, "Here!" He exclaimed, pointing victoriously to a line on a processing document. "Reason for incarceration: Six counts of rape..."

...

Dean's voice dropped off. He closed his eyes, and slowly, his anger practically tangible as he drew in a long, measured breath, he spoke, his voice dark. "I fucking knew it." He slapped the file closed, shaking his head as he began his pace again, his anger needing an outlet. He was so close to punching something. So... fucking... close. One more prod and he would burst.

"Dean." Castiel spoke, his voice hushed, "Frankie York told me he was raped by Kyle Thompson before he died." He said, "Six times."

"I know," Dean whipped around, looking to Cas, practically mad with realization. "I said I was out to lunch, but really, I was just down the hall. I heard it all!" He swung his hand around, nearly hitting Cas. He didn't even notice he was so caught up.

Dean had heard? How? Castiel clutched the quarter tight.

"And so the rapist who was raped for six days was in for six counts of rape... and the murderer who was going to get off scott-free was stabbed 37 times. Wanna bet he did that to his victims before killing them, too? Ha... what does that sound like to you? Because to me, Cas..." Dean strode to the middle of the room, looking up to the ceiling with a glint in his eye. "There could only be one thing that cares this much about delivering his Just Desserts."

Dean laughed, raising his voice again. "I thought you were dead, you sunofabitch! Proved me wrong... So..." He slapped his hands at his sides, then brought them up in a condescending shrug. "We've figured your little joke out... Why don't you just come out and show your face all ready?"

...

"COME ON!" Dean screamed, the room shaking with the force of his anger. A glass of water on the table shattered, ruining the documents as the video camera fizzled and died out with a sad, mechanical whirr.

...

The door creaked open slowly. It was neither guard nor warden that waltzed in, however. Instead, it was the front desk guy's favorite conversation buddy: The mailman.

Castiel's eyes shot from the glass of water to the door, his wings ruffling, on edge. He could feel the presence of some great power, but he was confused more than anything. It couldn't be...

Even though Dean's powers weren't fully awakened yet, even he could see the textured, shadowy forms of four brilliant, golden wings sprouting out of his back. The door closed on its own behind him. He snapped his fingers.

The mailman's features were instantly replaced with a quaff of chestnut brown hair, large, puckish eyes, and a smile growing over lips as smug and self-satisfied as ever. "You caught me."

"Gabriel." Castiel muttered, eying him in confusion.

"Hey there, little bro." The archangel greeted, strolling further into the room with a bounce in his step. "I saw that the pearly gates are open again. Good on you. That sure makes picking my dates a lot easier."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean added in, his tone still over-harsh.

"Whoa, whoa," Gabriel held up his hands. "No need to get all macho man, tough guy. You really have developed an anger problem lately, haven't you?"

"Stop avoiding the question, Gabriel."

He blinked, seeming to consider Dean's retort before going on. "Fine... since you asked so nicely." He shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the interrogation table, swinging his legs. "Well, I have to preface this by saying that it sure does make it easier to hide when everyone thinks you're dead. Buuuut... things get boring when you've got to lay low." He complained, rolling his eyes. As he continued, his feet stopped swinging, his expression growing intense and excited instead. "So when Heaven opened back up like a Swedish milk maid, I figured, hey, dear old Daddy Dearest was handing me a sign. So I took it. I flew out of the shadows and back up to heaven to scout out a good place to resume my hobbies, maybe check in on a Winchester or two... And low and behold, my main man Dean-o... is playing dirty." He leaned forward on the table, eyes training hard over Dean. "....Very dirty." He continued, his voice dropping lower in his throat.

Castiel didn't look at Dean. Rather, he was staring right back at Gabriel, his face paling ever so slightly.

Dean could see the shadowy, yet somehow still shining, shapes of Gabriel's wings spread wider, fanning out over his back and growing higher in the suddenly too-small room. Dean wasn't seeing it wrong, either. He had two sets of wings, for certain, both of them huge, both towering over Dean and Cas. And paired with the disturbing picture of an expression halfway between joking and glinting with genuine threat... it was intimidating as hell. Or Heaven. Whatever.

Some dark place twisted with instinct and hedonism deep within Dean, it shuddered, shrinking away from the image. This was more than just angel. This was a being who could smite him with one stray thought. It was the first time Dean felt fear ebb up from his demon side... and that made it all the more terrifying. He wished that he had a retort, or a response at the very least, but he couldn't bring himself to say words. He was frozen.

But Castiel was taking a step forward, his shoulder blocking Gabriel from Dean, his own two, black wings rising up behind he and Dean protectively. They shimmered midnight blue, "What do you want, Gabriel?" He muttered.

At Castiel's protective gesture, Gabriel's dark look lightened. "Well, all right there, Castiel!" He slid back down off the table, landing like a sprite as his wings folded back in against his back. They still looked large. "You're right. Enough about me..." He looked right at Castiel, his hands tucked in his pockets as mischief sparkled in his eye. "Let's talk Winchester."

"Uh... No, Cas," Dean shifted to the side the smallest bit, trying his hardest to glare some intimidating look at Gabriel, but it wasn't working. He could only look at Castiel. "Cas, let's... Let's just forget about it. It's Gabriel. We solved it... No use sticking around to hear some wacky story..." He tried for the door, but Gabriel raised his finger, wagging it chastisingly.

"Ah, ah, ah..." He scolded. And as he did, two guards stomped into the room, getting on either side of Dean and held back by the arms again. This time, though, they were stronger. They dragged Dean back without a problem. "You should know better than that by now, buddy boy. Even if you are a little... " He weighed his hands. "... out of it." His eyes snapped right back to Dean. Dean was heaving his breaths, looking like he wanted to punch the guys holding him.

Really, he was just scared.

Something tore at Castiel's gut again. And he could feel it. He knew Dean had been 'out of it' lately, but for even Gabriel to know... Castiel felt like a fool, "That's enough Gabriel." He warned, although his heart wasn't in it, "You have no business with Dean." He stepped forward, "Let him go, and you and I will talk." Suddenly, Castiel felt a cough coming on. No, not now. He held it back determinedly. Dean needed him.

Gabriel looked up, seeming to actually consider what Castiel was saying, and that stretched on for several moments. Finally, "Hmmm.... No." The guards slammed Dean back into the chair at the opposite side of the interrogation table. Dean growled, drawing a protective glance from Castiel. "I think we can all talk together here, can't we?" Gabriel asked rhetorically. "Wouldn't we all like to talk about just what's going on here? Dean," he turned to the hunter. "Wouldn't you?"

"Gabriel ... You four-winged son of a --"

Castiel's eyes returned to Dean, his confusion suddenly so deep he looked hurt.

"Huh..." Gabriel's face stretched out in surprise, hardly missing Dean's slip. But he continued on, undeterred. "My, my, my... Now, Dean... when I look around at what's happening in these parts, and then I look at you... Boy, oh boy, it sure does seem like you've got two faces here..." Gabriel shrugged. "...Like you're hiding demons."

Dean threw his last bit of struggling. He froze. He stared at Gabriel. He wouldn't...

Luckily for Dean, Castiel didn't catch the demons hint. What he did catch was much more significant, at least to Castiel. Castiel's gaze had become so focused that he hardly heard any of Gabriel's words at all. His wings had pulled in a bit. It wasn't in fear. It was more like betrayal.

"Four winged?" He repeated, this time with no air-quotes.

Dean didn't answer Castiel. He looked down at the table in front of him, deflating. He couldn't look at him.

Gabriel continued, his eyes sparkling. "...You can't run from the truth forever, Dean. Pretty soon, it's gonna change you. That second face of yours is going to take over, and it's going to rape, pillage, and murder just like my take on you did. And more than that," he shook his head, tsking. "... You're not the only one hurt here, Dean-o. That part of you, whether you want to believe it or not, is going to catch up to your friends and family. And the next time it happens... it won't just be the cosplayer dress rehearsal."

Castiel's wings continued to disappear behind his back, staring wounded at Dean. What... had happened last night? What was Gabriel talking about? Did Dean not tell him something about Metatron? About the First Blade and Cain?

"Dean." He commanded. Then, "What's going on." There was a tremor in his voice. It wasn't anger. It was worry, a worry that Castiel had failed, but even more than that, that Dean was hurt. Castiel couldn't suppress it anymore. He coughed, his eyes closing for a second. It... hurt. He coughed again, into his fist. No...

Finally, with that coughing, Dean looked up. He stared at Castiel, concern working into his own gaze. "... Cas?" He muttered, fighting slightly against the arms of the inhumanly strong guards holding him. "Cas? ...Are you okay?" He resumed, sounding a little more desperate, feeling the hold around him like a prison for the first time.

"Oh, Castiel... Don't even get me started on you," Gabriel shook his head, abandoning Dean's gaze to waltz, instead, over to Castiel. "I can expect the shenanigans-- to a point--" he glanced back at Dean quickly, then back to Castiel. "... from the Winchester kid... But from you, Cas? An angel?" He huffed, bouncing around him amusedly. "I know you've been acting out lately, the... whole Gold stint and then the backlash from all of that... but you were one of the good ones!" He snapped, planting himself strongly in front of Castiel. "You were well behaved. Followed Dad's plans, took his advice... heck, you were always less rowdy than I was. But this..." He laughed. "Castiel... latest bad idea in a string of bad ideas. This dishonesty..." He looked over at Dean, mock sympathy in his eyes. "Even with your bestest pal Dean..."

That caught Dean's attention. He wasn't stupid. He knew Cas was hiding something from him, but he couldn't bring himself to question it when he was keeping something important to himself as well. But if Gabriel was mentioning it... It was big. Dean looked at Castiel. Scared for himself... and for him. "... Cas.."

Castiel's gaze had turned inward, no longer able to look at Dean.

"... But I mean, after last night!" Gabriel clapped, laughing with all sorts of amusement in his expression. "... I wasn't sure you two needed me at all anymore! But running away like that, Dean..." He shook his head. "You two," he brought his hands up. Pointing sharply at both Dean and Castiel at the same time. "You deserve each other. Congrats." He kept chuckling. "Congrats."  
Castiel glared at Gabriel, choking back coughs. He couldn't look at Dean. He couldn't... Deep down, Castiel knew that Dean had run away, rejected him. His gut churned painfully...

"You don't know what it's like." Castiel muttered, staring angrily at Gabriel. He was angry, "You run at the first sign of danger. You weren't there! I was trying... to save Heaven! To save all of us!" He shouted, voice deep, but wracked with pain, "I did what I had to do, but no more angels are going to die for me. No more..." He cast an accidental glance at Dean, and for the first time, a small part of him wanted to live. Despite what he knew he deserved, he wanted more.

No.

He glared at Gabriel daringly, broken.

"You're right." Gabriel admitted, shrugging his shoulders. His gaze didn't wander; it was still trained powerfully at Castiel. "I did run. But, correct me if I'm wrong, little bro... but I believe I'm one of the only angels of my pay grade still around to tell the tale. Maybe one day, Heaven will need me again. And I'll be there," he raised an eyebrow. "... Can you say the same?"

The longer Dean watched, the more the pit in his stomach grew. And he couldn't take it anymore. "Gabriel!!" He screamed, throwing back against the grips of the men holding him, except they weren't there anymore. Dean nearly fell back in the chair, but he saved himself in time, moving himself to his feet with some sort of elegance he didn't know he had. He blinked. Too surprised to act out any further.

"Dean-o... Did you think I forgot about you?" Gabriel said, turning back to Dean. Although he didn't continue for a few moments. Instead, he glanced back at Castiel. Then to Dean. Slowly, he approached him.

Somehow, Dean had felt more powerful moments ago with the arms imprisoning him. But here, alone, facing Gabriel knowing what he was...

Suddenly, Gabriel was right in front of Dean, staring up at him comfortably. "... I saw it happen, Dean." His said, his voice quiet, but not quiet enough to be a whisper. "I saw ... what you haven't told my little brother here. What you haven't told Sam, your own brother..." Suddenly, his voice was poison. "How you really came back from the dead."

Dean's eyes grew. He looked at Castiel instinctively.

Dead? Dean was...? Dead?

Castiel felt his stomach drop. When Gadreel blew himself up, and Hannah brought him to Metatron, he was already there, wasn't he? But Dean tried to kill him off with the First Blade.

The First Blade...

Dean...

"Yeah, I know. Cas here doesn't know yet... Hm. Funny," Gabriel cocked his head to the side. "Seems like the only person who knows the whole truth right now is the King of Hell!"

"I ... I don't know what you're--"

Gabriel's hand moved up, pulling an imaginary zipper closed just as Dean's mouth shut. "Zip it, Winchester."

Dean made to open his mouth again, but he couldn't. He felt over it, humming behind his lips and breathing more quickly as he realized he couldn't interject. Shit! He looked between the two angels, fearful, gesturing like mad. Until Gabriel moved his fingers and Dean was sat back into the chair from before as it scooted under Dean on its own. Dean's hands were pushed down to his sides.

Gabriel stalked closer again. And this time, he leaned down, making eye contact with Dean on his plane. He wasn't smiling anymore. "Maybe your alliances have already shifted... and you just haven't accepted it yet."

Before Gabriel could get any closer to the suddenly bound and gagged Dean, Gabriel was being swept back across the room forcefully.

"Dean's alliance is with me." Castiel growled, appearing behind Dean. He was done playing games. He didn't care if what Gabriel was saying was true. He put a hand over Dean's forehead and broke Gabriel's bonds over him, pulling him up out of the chair powerfully. He'd use all his grace on the spot to get Dean to safety if he had to. He'd failed him. He'd let Metatron kill him. It seemed only fitting that Castiel would die to keep Dean safe now. Castiel's wings spread wide, menacingly tall, gripping Dean tight.

"Hey, hey... Castiel! Bro!" Gabriel staggered back to his feet, fixing his hair as he looked at the two from across the room. "I'm not here to deliver the final punchline or anything! No! ...You've gotta be more careful!" He glanced Castiel over, looking genuinely concerned for a moment. But just for a moment. "... You're gonna burn yourself out."

Dean looked up at Castiel, noting his wings, noting everything about him and suddenly, he pieced it together. Castiel... He wasn't okay. Like... physically. Somehow. And Gabriel.. Oh. He was done with him. "Hey! Buddy," Dean yelled, moving to Castiel's side, hovering just in front of his wing. "Just... just can it, all right? And let us out--"

"Hold it, hold it," Gabriel held up a hand, looking at his watch. "... Shoot. I've got hot yoga with Shania Twain at 1:00... Can you two promise to settle this between yourselves?"

"Can we settle... wha--"

"Remember: communication is the key to any good relationship. So... communicate! Don't mess this up. Oh, and--" He smiled wide, snapping a few times playfully. "... snaps for the happy couple."

"Gabriel--"

"Gotta go!" And with one final snap that he raised to the side of his sly grin, he was gone.

And so were Dean and Castiel.

They were back in their motel room. Everything the same as it was that morning. Everything. The crappy, motel clock read 6:46AM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Something about another chapter in another week. But like... hahahehehehaha no chapter tomorrow. sorry bros. We workin. So hard. In the butt. We go in so hard. in the. butt. it's perfect!!!"
> 
> This is what happens when Vanilla tells sara to write a chapter note at the end and tells her what to write. Butt seriously. We'll have another chapter up next week. We love you all. 
> 
> Also next week's chapter will be more Destiel. We won't leave you guys hanging. UNLIKE DEAN. *huff* (Vanilla moaning mournfully in the background)
> 
> <3


	13. Dean and Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel talk in the wake of Gabriel's... counseling.

Castiel and Dean glanced around the room, still on edge. Everything looked... the same. The soup can was still empty and in the trash, Dean's toothbrush was still by the sink, and then, it all started to kick in. Castiel looked to Dean, feeling like he'd been hit over the back of the head with an angel blade. He looked away, unable to handle two kinds of pain at once, and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with his hands. His wings drooped lifelessly over the bed.

Dean's gaze found Castiel again. "Cas..." He muttered, worrying less about the fact that his body was practically calling for the First Blade now, still ringing from the danger they were in, and worrying much more about Castiel. "Cas..." He muttered again, sitting right beside him. He held up his hands, trying to decide whether he should... hold him. Shit. He ... he wanted to. But... that was wrong. Wasn't it? He dropped his hands. "Cas, are you...?" He tried again. But he didn't know the words. 

Castiel dropped his hands. He looked tired, "Dean..." He gazed at him heavily, "I'm sorry." He held back a cough, "I should've... been there. To protect you from Metatron." He coughed, and one of his wings shifted weakly, as if reaching out to Dean, curving around him but not quite touching.

"Shit, Cas..." Dean mumbled, getting over himself for once. He put his arm around Castiel, stroking the tops of his shoulders. "Don't worry about that. Everyone had things to do, then. You too... And if you hadn't done what you did... Heaven wouldn't be open again." He tried to smile. "And I'm... alive now." It hurt saying that. Especially right after Gabriel had nearly outed him. What it took to get back... was it worth it? Dean didn't want to think about that. He closed his eyes, hanging his head as he traced his hand back between Castiel's wings, rubbing that spot warmly. He was pretty sure Castiel had liked that earlier. 

Castiel had stopped coughing. Even his wings seemed to pick themselves up a bit at the touch. Soon, one was opening up slowly and laying across Dean's back.

"Dean." Castiel rumbled. He... needed to know, "What did Crowley do to you." He looked at him gently, "I know it's why you're hiding from Sam, why he made Crowley call your phone." He rasped, his voice low but soothing - he felt like he was melting slowly with those touches, "Maybe, I can help. I can call Hannah, we can hide you, protect you..." That wing around Dean's shoulder gave a little shiver and held him even warmer.

"No." Dean shook his head, speaking softly. Although he was sure. "No more angels. Only you." Dean looked up at Castiel, giving another pet to his back. He felt his wing against him... and it felt good. He didn't bother hiding it. Dean pressed into it, feeling warmth there. The touch was more noticeable. Not quite solid yet, but there. Like he was being held by a shadowy, textured form of warm water. It was soothing. Soothing enough... for him to make a deal. 

Castiel didn't connect that lean to the fact that Dean knew Gabriel had four wings. He wasn't thinking about Gabriel at all anymore.

"Cas, I... " He sighed. "... I think I want to be honest with you. Really, I... I do, but..." He closed his eyes, squishing his lips together in thought. "... It can't just go one way." He decided, looking much more determined. "You've got to tell me what's up with you, too." He stroked again at Cas's back. This time, he moved his hand up without thinking, slipping it under the trench coat. It smoothed out over the suit jacket beneath. 

Castiel's eyes closed in thought, but his wings gave a small shudder, opening up and closing a little more around Dean. He breathed calmly through his nose, considering it as well as he could in that moment. Then, without opening his eyes, he replied, "My grace is failing." He murmured, looking up at Dean intimately.

"Your grace...?" Dean began to ask. But before he could get the question out, Cas was looking up at him. And...oh, man. Those eyes... Dean cleared his throat. His voice was soft. "Because you... you took it off that other angel?" 

"Yes." Castiel nodded, his voice mirroring Dean's, but deep, gravely.

"So you're... " He paused, trying to think. But damn, with Cas looking at him like that, and with his voice so... Shit. "... Are you getting sick... because you're becoming... human?" He guessed, his hand becoming a little firmer. He massaged into Castiel's back with the tips of his fingers. 

Castiel made a thoughtful face, closing his eyes, but it wasn't because he was thinking, "I don't know..." He mumbled, "Without replenishing my grace... I will die." He looked at Dean, feeling once more like he didn't want to. But, that wasn't an option, "I don't understand the steps, myself. But I appear, to be becoming... reacquainted with my old human appetites, human sensations..."At that, he realized what Dean's massaging was doing to him, where it was, and his wings shuddered... he needed Dean to stop. He was... getting hard.

It wasn't a problem, because Dean was stopping in the very next moment. He lowered his arms. "Cas, you're...Wait." His eyes widened. "... You're dying?"

Castiel looked up at him, gaze a little foggy, "Yes, Dean." He admitted, "I was going to tell you. You were... the last person I was going to see, before... But then you asked me to hunt with you and I... I think I'd rather be here, with you." Rather than what, Castiel didn't want to think about. That and... he was scared. He'd prepared himself to die alone because he was finished. He wasn't needed anywhere else. But now... he wasn't so sure. He looked to Dean, asking him, silently, if he could stay, if he could forgive him.

Dean's eyes widened even more as Castiel spoke. This was real. Castiel ...

was dying.

"No..." Dean shook his head, wanting not to believe it. Wanting it to be anything else at all. "Cas, no... " He didn't even need to think this time. He pulled Castiel in against him in a forceful hug. Like if he let him go, he would... "Don't you dare ever think like that again. You can't just let yourself... you can't..." He huffed, burying his face into Castiel's neck. "I can't lose you." The words just came out. And as stunned as Dean was, he wasn't going to take them back. 

That... wasn't the response Castiel was expecting. But somehow, it was the one he needed. Oh how he needed it. Castiel put his hands on Dean's sides, then his shoulders, like he wasn't sure where to put them, until finally he wrapped his arms around Dean, just hugging him back, "Dean..." He tried to reason with him, but his wings were folding around Dean, too, and, unable to keep his head up, he rested it on Dean's shoulder, "Why should another angel die just so I can live?"

"If... if that's what's gotta happen, then that's what's gotta happen!" Dean responded, moving his head unconsciously... before he realized that Castiel had his head on his shoulder. With a blink, and a bit of a flush as he realized how close they suddenly were, he settled his head back down on Castiel's. He stared at his wings behind him. They were nearly opaque. "... Hell.. Cas... we'll find some way. So, just..." He squeezed him tighter. "I don't want to hear any more of that 'I'll accept my fate nobly' crap. There's no such thing as a noble death. You rot in the ground regardless. Or--" What happened to angels when they died? They didn't go back to heaven, did they? ... Did they go to purgatory? Did they just... disappear?

Shit. Not a good place. Dean squeezed him closer again, rubbing up between those wings. 

"Dean. I'm not killing angels anymore." He sighed, although for once it wasn't a resigned sigh, it was comfortable. Like he'd found some of his strength again. His wings fluttered, a human moment taking over him as Dean found that spot. Castiel really needed to tell him what that did to him, but he couldn't remember why it was such a bad thing anymore. He was going to die, but maybe, just maybe, he'd have Dean by his side. That was far better than even the noblest of deaths. 

Dean said... he couldn't lose him.

Castiel had shifted his head back without realizing it, his distant but close gaze locked on Dean. And, like he was reading off of some human tablet he'd never seen before, he was leaning in, and kissing Dean warmly.

Maybe Dean would have retorted-- maybe he would have told Castiel how stupid he sounded trying to give excuses as to why he should die-- but... shit. Cas was kissing him.

It registered as fear for a half a second, and Dean made a small sound in protest. He shouldn't be doing this--they both shouldn't be. Maybe it wasn't such a big deal that Castiel was a dude, not that Dean found himself attracted to them in any way, but if he'd really found an exception, great. So, no. After giving it some background thought, Dean knew it wasn't that. It just... it wasn't healthy. This was Cas! He couldn't just fuck and run. Cas and Dean were practically business partners, and in a business where there were more headstones than success stories, it was bound to get complicated. And with Dean's current predicament-- demon? Angel? Come on, the complications in that mess were a no-brainer...

But... the kiss. That kiss... When it wasn't Dean hopped up on demon juice initiating, but goddamned Castiel... Dean felt himself relax, his eyes blinking shut. Soon, his lips were going soft, and he was kissing back. He wrapped his other arm around Castiel's back, pressing in between his shoulder blades firmly. His brain numbed, the pleasure of the contact giving way to any sort of logic. That was so much easier to do now. 

Castiel wasn't sure what that sound meant, but he knew what Dean's lips going soft meant, and Castiel couldn't help himself after that. His arms circled around Dean's waist, feeling his lips, the brush of his nose, the smooth skin of his prominent jaw. It was all so foreign yet familiar. And when Dean pressed between his shoulder blades, Castiel's wings fanned out, and Castiel sighed through his nose, tasting Dean's lip. It was almost an accident, he sort of just relaxed there, but then, Dean's taste was lingering on his tongue, and Castiel wanted more. He parted his lips, kissing Dean intimately. He was better than coffee with six sugars and cream, better than pancake syrup. Castiel opened the kiss a little more, tasting Dean's tongue.

How was it that Castiel made Dean forget how to kiss? It was such a surprise, such a wonderful, genuine surprise, that Dean just... let Cas lead. And how was it that Castiel knew how to kiss? Dean hummed quietly into Castiel's mouth as he found his tongue, and the contact shot right down to his dick. He shuddered a breath through his nose, surprised to find that he was okay with Castiel just taking from him. He returned the kiss softly, parting his lips for Cas to invade further. Shit... he really did feel like a kid again. He was getting hard. 

It took a while for Castiel to realize that Dean was... submitting to him. It was so unexpected that he didn't even notice it was happening. But when he did, a few long, Castiel-initiated kisses later, it made his whole world turn over. Castiel was... turned on. 

Castiel's wings rose, and purposefully, he turned Dean, laying him straight back on the bed, Castiel curving over him. He didn't break the kiss. The ends of his wings hanged down around them like the hanging branches of a willow, and Castiel kissed Dean deeply in their protection, his hands coming up to the sides of Dean's face.

"Am...mm..." Dean moaned up into Castiel's lips, feeling the surface of the bed bounce up under his back, and he held tight to Castiel's own. It was new. All of it was new, but to allow someone else to lead, that felt newest of all. If it was anyone else, Dean wouldn't have allowed it... but it was Cas. 

Dean felt... safe. 

Instinctually, he pushed up into Castiel's lips as he felt hands on his jaw. He wanted more of that. So he tried to give Cas the space for it, extending his neck what he could in the small space between them, sighing quietly over his lips. His palms moved in encouragement between Castiel's shoulder blades, gripping the material of his coat there. 

That had a curious effect. Castiel's body dipped into Dean as he kissed him. And, as if realizing they could be a lot closer if they weren't half off the bed, Castiel moved his hands beneath Dean's arms and hoisted them both to the center of the bed, lying gently atop him despite the angel strength coursing through him.

"Sh... shit," Dean breathed against Cas's lips. He'd moved him. Damn, he was on top of him. Being so close, he was reminded of the feeling of Castiel's skin... and he wanted that again. He pushed against Castiel just enough to make some room beneath him, suddenly pulling at his own suit jacket, trying to get it off. It was tough in that position, but he managed it, partway between kissing Castiel back and panting against his lips, he managed it. He bounced back down against the bed, pulling Castiel with him. Before hastily starting to undo the cuffs of his shirt.

Castiel followed Dean's lead, kissing him, although he wasn't exactly helping. He didn't seem to realize Dean needed the room, and wouldn't give him more than a few inches breathing room.

"Mm... Cas," Dean breathed against Castiel's lips as he recognized he was going to have to do this part on his own. But... he didn't really mind. There was something desperate and possessive about the way Castiel wouldn't let up on Dean... and that was pretty hot. After a few more moments, Dean was done with his cuffs and had moved onto his tie, somehow managing to undo it between them before moving on to the buttons of his shirt, which were a little harder to get at with so little space. A little frustrated, he gave up halfway through, and just clung to Castiel hard, his hands working up beneath the sides of the trench coat. Dean began working that off, pulling it over Castiel's arms in a few, strong strokes. But quickly, he learned that in that position, without Cas's help, he wasn't able to get it all the way off. A little trapped, Dean moaned into Castiel's lips, giving one more tug at the coat. 

Castiel, somehow, realized what Dean wanted him to do, so he moved his arms to let Dean slip the coat off of him. And then his hands were moving to the buttons of Dean's shirt. He began undoing them. Except, he was having a remarkably difficult time (his clothes were pretty much for show), so with a resigned grunt, he tore the shirt open, "I'll mend it later." He mumbled against Dean's lips, dragging the shirt down Dean's shoulders.

"Ah.... fuck, Cas.. This is my good shirt..." Dean groaned, feeling a flash of annoyance pull up into his head. Which was weird, because he was getting so turned on at the same time, so it was like annoyed turn-on and Dean was just not in the state of mind to comprehend such a complex feeling. So, instead, he retaliated. He grabbed Castiel's tie, pulling him in strongly. He didn't let their lips part--even as Dean barely made to kiss Castiel at all, but just reacted to him, panting against him. He was too focused on his hand, which he used to begin unbuttoning Castiel's shirt... for one whole button. After the first, he just used his juiced up demon strength. He pulled down over every catch of buttons at the front of Castiel's shirt, popping each one off with easy jolts of strength, one right after another. He growled up into Castiel's mouth, nipping his lip lightly as he reached the bottom one, the shirt falling open. 

Castiel's wings fluttered, enjoying Dean's show of strength in a way he never had before. He liked that hand in his tie, that growl, that nip... Castiel flung his shirt off, diving back into Dean's mouth with just the tie around his neck. His hand went into Dean's hair, finding a place to hold as the other went beneath Dean's shoulder, pressing him hotly into the bed.

Holy shit, forget long hair. Dean liked ties. As Castiel was reminding him, you didn't need a lot of hair growth to be able to pull on. And pulling hair had always been one of Dean's turn-ons. He panted against Castiel's lips just as a soft moan sounded between them, almost like a call of hurt, but the way it raised at the end implied--

Shit. Had that been Dean?

His hand still on Cas's tie, Dean pulled, pressing his mouth hard up against Castiel's in an attempt to muffle any further sounds. And that action finally initiated the long-awaited contact he'd been craving, skin-on-skin, their fronts bare and pressed against each other. The soft moan that it elicited was muffled by kiss after kiss, and Dean was so okay with this. Castiel's skin was firm, and very pleasing to touch. Dean's other hand snuck over Cas's shoulder, pressing firmly into his upper back. Holy fuck that was nice. Dean wanted to trace the muscles that met him there. He did. Firmly massaging at a knot he found there. Dean wondered briefly if Castiel's wings did anything in manifesting knots in his back. But only briefly. The humidity of Cas's breath was a little too distracting. 

With the way Dean was touching him, he wasn't the only one making noise. Castiel gave a quiet but certain groan into the kiss when Dean massaged him there. His wings flared, and when Castiel picked his head up to breathe, his hands were going down to undo Dean's pants.

"Ah, fuck... Cas..." He muttered when Castiel's lips left him for breath. It was the first time he got a good look at him in the past few minutes, and... just.. " Damn..." He groaned, letting his head flop back near the pillow, which was just beyond the reach of where their bodies had landed. His eyes still on Cas, he spoke between labored breaths. His cock perked up a little more as he saw Cas was going for his pants. "... Are we... are we gonna do this...?" He muttered curiously, uncertain what he wanted anymore. 

Castiel paused at Dean's voice, sitting on his hips, looking near feral. He panted softly through his lips, looking at Dean as if he were translating his words back into Enochian, "You'll... have to be more specific." He said, voice surprisingly still soft and rasped, "I... don't know what I'm doing." He sat there, staring at Dean, hands resting just above Dean's cock, his tie hanging unceremoniously from his neck...

Dean blinked. Of all the things that had happened between them in the last few minutes, that response surprised him the least. It reminded him, all at once, that this was actually Castiel. And they had just been making out. Hardcore. 

Doubt coursing through him again, Dean's eyes flitted down to his groin. Castiel's hand was right there over the prominent tent in his pants, and fuck... he wanted him to squeeze it so bad. But...

"Shit," Dean breathed, setting his head back against the pillow again. Hesitantly, he pulled himself out from beneath Castiel, slipping his legs over the side of the bed. As he stood, he shucked off his ruined shirt, going to his bag with his eyes hidden in his hand. When he turned around again, he was pulling a t-shirt down over his chest. "Cas.... I... We can't do this." He said, not daring to make eye contact with him. And fuck... that was hard to say. 

Castiel sat there, watching Dean through a fog of arousal... and confusion. 

"Dean." He rumbled, trying to understand what had happened. Or more specifically, what had gone wrong, "Was it... something I said?" He asked, because it seemed like the thing to do. But... he couldn't even remember what he had just said. That in itself should've been reason enough to get his clothes back on and drop all pursuit of Dean Winchester. But... he wanted him. And it was clear even in his gaze; his slightly drooping wings...

The way Castiel looked, practically pouting through his obviously still-heated eyes, no shirt, just a tie and a tent in his pants... shit, that did all sorts of crazy things to Dean's libido. And that part of him, that sick, twisted part of him that was all pleasure and succumbing to desire, it was willing him forward, moving him towards the bed again before he even realized it. Just before he was back down and slipping beneath Cas all over again, he pulled himself backwards, slipping his hands back through his hair in frustration. "Sh... shit, Cas... no... No, it's not... It's not anything you did." He sighed deeply. "We just can't. Not with me." He shook his head. "... Not with.. how I am." Was he seriously having this conversation? 

Castiel tilted his head, trying hard to understand, "How you are?" He repeated, shaking his head slightly, "I don't understand..." He sat down, wings coming closed behind him.

"I died, Cas!" He yelled. The walls seemed to suck the sound in, but it was still loud in that tiny room. Dean huffed, turning his back, his eyes wild. He was getting angry again. And he knew why. He took a moment for himself, then moved to that chair in the corner near the door. He sat down, grabbing the arms of the thing as he stared up at the ceiling. "... I'm not the same anymore." 

Castiel's brow lowered sadly, watching Dean sit down. Finally, Castiel got up. He took his shirt and slipped it on. He fumbled with the bottom button, then just gave up and looked at Dean, sitting on the edge of the bed facing him, "You weren't the same when I raised you from perdition, either." He told him, just... trying to making it easier on him, "But you recovered. You got stronger. Your bond with Sam improved..."

"Yeah, but if he knew what I am now, he'd never want to talk to me again. He'd... he'd disown me, Cas..." Dean said. He looked in Castiel's direction, looking him over softly. That part of him surged again-- he wanted to jump Cas... He abandoned the grip on the chair in favor of his thighs. He gripped them hard, trying to control himself. "...If.. you knew, Cas... You'd..." He looked away, closing his eyes again. "... You'd forget me, too." 

Castiel's expression hardened, looking at Dean skeptically. He could see him trying to contain himself, but Castiel didn't understand, "Dean, you have saved every one of my Father's creations... at least... six times." He said, "You have closed the gates of Hell and opened the gates of Heaven... you have... single handedly destroyed my life... and set me free." He looked at him desperately, a devotion there he'd never felt for anyone, angel, god, or human, "How could I ever forget you?" He almost scolded him.

Dean... picked his head up again, staring at Castiel.

Shit. Oh, shit. "I... I... " His voice grew quiet. He didn't want to say anything, but that thing inside of him was forcing him to. With the atmosphere around them, it was too strong. It was controlling him. "... Cas... I ... want you." He choked out breathlessly. 

Castiel searched his gaze tragically. Dean... wanted him? Castiel felt a surge of... something... pull throughout his body.

The grip on Dean's thighs opened up, and he was standing. His will was just strong enough to hold him in place, his body tense. "... I want you... so bad." He shook his head, his cheeks flushing with inner struggle and the desire pooling behind the levy of will in his gut. He sounded so desperate, and that hurt his pride. But not as much as what some force was making him admit. "It... wasn't really Crowley... that brought me back, Cas. It was..." he opened his eyes, forcing himself to look at the angel again. His chest heaved. "... It was the mark."

The Mark of Cain...

Slowly, Castiel rose, eyes widening. He glanced to the mark on Dean's forearm, then, "How?" He asked. He didn't understand. The mark couldn't do that. How was Dean alive?

Dean didn't want to answer. Shit. But he'd gotten himself in too far. His heartbeat racing and his palms pulling into rock-like fists... he stared. Several long, thick moments passed by, the room sweltering with growing anticipation. And more than that... the thing in Dean was winning. It wanted to be known. And Dean couldn't hold it back any longer.

Dean lowered his head, his eyes closing. And in the next, tense moment, he looked up at Castiel. And his gaze was stronger than it had been in hours... 

His eyes were black. 

Castiel's eyes widened, his brow lowered. Dean was... he was... Castiel's expression fell tragically. He shut his eyes, looking away.

Dean was a demon.

Castiel had failed.

The events of Metatron's capture rushed by him second by second, and the mere thought of Metatron still alive in Heaven no longer brought him pride or comfort. He'd let the person he cared for most slip right through his fingers in the midst of it all. In the corner of his eye, he spotted his trench coat, and he knew what he had to do. He moved to pick it up.

Castiel made sure the First Blade was in there before looking to Dean deeply, mournfully, "I'm sorry, Dean." He said. And then, knowing no other possible way to make any of this right, to explain himself, he said simply, "I want you, as well."

And then, he was gone.

Dean blinked his eyes back to normal. Quickly, he searched the room. But Cas was gone.

Cas's last words replayed in his head as Dean's breath sped, his blood surging through his veins as he paled, as he noted just how contradictory Castiel's statement had been. He'd said it just to make him feel better, hadn't he? He was gone now. He'd given up on him. Dean never should have said anything.

Dean stomped through the room, pacing madly, pulling his hair, screaming, yelling until his throat was sore.

Somewhere vague in the background, there was a pounding on the wall and a yell from an angry neighbor. Dean hadn't noticed that he'd dropped to his knees. But there on the floor, his peripheral vision caught something under the chair.

A plastic bag with a couple of chicken noodle soup cans inside. 

Standing, he blinked back angry tears. The can dented with a thunk as it slammed against the opposite wall. Dean caught a glimpse of himself in the cruddy mirror above the out-of-place sink, and the demon was staring back at him.

Several seconds and a door slam later, the room was left empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the wait, guys! Work is catching up with Vanilla and myself again. We'll have another chapter up in a week. It's gunna be Mooseley. Because we're sick of these hopeless boys. But they'll get their day :) sooner or later...
> 
> ...but probably later.
> 
> Love you all <3


	14. Sam and Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first cracks begin to appear in Sam and Crowley’s arrangement.

Crowley looked himself over in the unnecessarily lavish, floor-length mirror in the throne room of Hell. It was framed by dark wood and ornate, devilish carvings of screaming souls and the like, and just to the right of his gleaming reflection stared the forlorn face of one particularly tortured looking soul. Usually, upon looking at that lost expression, he would feel a grand swell of pride. That soul, after all, was screaming for him-- the King of Hell.

That morning, however... it only seemed to be screaming at him.

His forced, kingly grin dropped. He straightened his tie... His crimson tie. He'd left the silver paisley one back in the Winchester library, along with a few other choice articles of clothing. If he hadn't managed to possess the presence of mind to blink into a private chamber upon vacating the Winchester bunker the previous night, he would have had quite a bit more lying and explaining to do. As it were, only a single demonic servant happened to see him nearly shirtless, ruffled, and high as a kite as he made the walk of shame back to Hell. Although one witness was one too many. The rumors had likely already started. Crowley's eyes narrowed. "Sam..." He hissed, the sound not a name, but a curse, dripping from his lips and poisoning the sulfur-laden air. 

He hadn't meant for his rolls in the hay with the younger Winchester to develop into anything more than that. First a tool to get him out of that bloody trap, then just for fun, then for the blood... But Sam forcing him to stay there--to stay in his sights as Crowley lost all sobriety... He hadn't meant for that to happen. And he certainly hadn't meant to get high, jump Sam's bones, and then act so embarrassingly human in the entirely sweaty, emotional context of sex. 

He'd felt for a moment that night that he'd lost the upper hand. And he hated that. It was despicable. 

Perhaps he should lay off the blood for a while. 

His eyes flashed predatorily, jumping to the large face of a black and white clock adorned simply with Roman numerals on the nearly cell-like wall. 8:30AM. The New York Stock Exchange was tuned in exactly to Hell's time (go figure), so with time zones considered... it was 6:30AM in Kansas. Sam was the early-bird-gets-the-worm type. He was up.

Spectacular. 

Crowley adjusted his new, but nearly-identically tailored onyx black overcoat, running his hands smoothly down its front, before turning on his heel. Personal matters aside... he had business to deal with. 

"Sire," An older, white-haired servant interrupted, dapper in dress and speech as he approached his king. "Apologies for the intrusion, but your 8:30 meeting to professionally promote future-proof human capital has met. We're awaiting the presence of your highness to begin."

"Push it back. I've an important matter to tend to." Crowley swept by, not so much as giving the demon a second look. 

"... Apologies, Sire, but this would be the third time the meeting were reschedu--"

"I'm sorry. But did I just hear you question an order?" Crowley whipped around, rounding on the servant with a vengeful blaze in his eye. "Or perhaps I should relay a more valid question: do you recall what happened... to the last assistant who dared question me?"

The demon looked distraught, fear in his eye. "Sire... I-I--"

"Answer. The question."

"His highness... incinerated him alive in... in holy oil, Sire."

"That's correct." Crowley breathed, his tone far from recovered. "See? You can answer something right for a change. Now," He turned back around, heading for the door. "... Dismiss the meeting and let its future date remain unscheduled, and I won't have your head removed and displayed on a pike."

"Y-yes, Sire!"

"Good assistant." And with that, Crowley was rounding the corner...

Into the Winchester-inhabited Men of Letters library. Too Winchester inhabited, in fact. 

Crowley managed to hold back a sneer as he saw Sam, not enjoying a hearty breakfast as he'd been expecting so early in the morning, but cleaning up the mess from the long night before. His eyes narrowed. "... Sam." He greeted, staying away from the endearments that morning as he scanned the room. He wasn't in the mood. 

Sam glanced over at Crowley, entirely unsurprised. He was picking books up off of the floor and putting them in a pile on the table beside a steaming cup of coffee. A familiar looking tie was neatly folded in the back pocket of his jeans, "Good morning." He husked, holding back a smile, "Coffee?"

Crowley glanced into Sam's eyes, a challenge. Though he still kept his distance. "... No. Thank you. I think I'll steer clear of the diuretic this morning." He tilted his head, his gaze falling down to Sam's back pocket. His eyes flashed up again, and his steps neared Sam slowly. "... I'm here on a matter of business. I believe we had a deal?" He held out a letter-sized piece of parchment, no emotion whatsoever reflecting in his eyes. 

That took Sam by surprise. He eyed Crowley seriously for a moment, wondering if that was Dean's location. He moved towards him to take it out of his hands, all business now as well with the thought of his brother in his mind.

Without flourish, Crowley snatched the parchment just out of Sam's reach as he was about to take it. He raised a brow. "... I believe you have something of mine first." He eyed Sam's jeans, where he'd seen the tie. 

Sam blinked. Oh. He felt his back pocket, then pulled the tie out. "Here." He mumbled, tossing it to him.

Crowley grabbed it out of the air. "Thank you," he muttered, tossing the parchment envelope at Sam in response. He didn't even wait to see if Sam caught it. Instead, he turned on his heel, walking over to a small mirror as he pulled the crimson tie off and shoved it into his pocket. He stood up his collar, tying the silver one in its place carefully. Much better. "He's in Rosemont, Illinois. The same city in which that fangirl-laden convention is taking place. So really, you can have your choice of Dean, if you'd like... Perhaps you should have said yes to date night after all, Sam." He turned around, slipping his hand down the silk of his silver tie. He wasn't perfect, but he felt better with that back. He continued dryly. "The envelope has the address of a particular inn and bar he's terrorized for the past few hours... He was really tearing it up. Drunk and belligerent. Nearly escorted away by local law enforcement. You're lucky that a few associates of mine managed to step in and put a muzzle on him for the time being. And at your word..." He breathed, still all business. Even his mild joking had been cool. "... he'll be delivered back to you."

Sam's ears perked up at that, "What?" His eyes widened, "No. I told you, none of your... associates... are to lay a hand on Dean." He breathed, his steaming coffee mug long forgotten, "I had your word, Crowley."

"He's fine, Sam. Unhurt." Crowley rolled his eyes. "He's still in the same condition he left in. And I'll have you know, if it weren't for the intervention of my associates, he would be in much more trouble right now than you two can deal with. He still doesn't realize his capture is related to you ...or me. Or that he's captured at all. For all he knows, they're just some good samaritans stepping in and helping a drunken fool." He huffed. "... I thought you'd be ecstatic. I did you boys a favor ...without even looking for anything extra."

Sam's anger seemed to have dissipated, but his shoulders were still rigid, tense, "Fine. Alright." He nodded, mind suddenly racing. Dean didn't know what was going on. Wait, why was he drunk at 6 am? Forget it, that wasn't important. Sam was already grabbing a jacket off of the back of one of the table chairs, looking ready to sweep right past Crowley and out to the garage.

However, before he could... Crowley was stepping in his way. He still looked cold. "Sam..." He began, his voice ice. "... I just want to make one thing clear before you leave. This... What happened," he pointed first to Sam, then himself, measuring his breaths as he continued. Each one was a threat. "... It doesn't change anything. I'm still me... and you're still a Winchester. Capiche?" His voice rumbled from him in a low, threatening growl. Perhaps it was just coincidence that it sounded nearly the same as when he'd been growling sweet nothings into Sam's ear. 

Sam could feel the similarity. And he felt it almost bitterly, "What, are you afraid your 'associates' will find out you've been sleeping with a Winchester for the past few nights?" He shot back. What was wrong with him? He had to go -- he had to get to Rosemont.

Crowley's eyes narrowed. He didn't respond for a few, measured moments. Then, "... Don't test me, Sam. I'm not in a playful mood, as you might be able to tell." He inched closer, the coolness in his eyes transforming into a fire. A heat. 

Sam huffed, "Whatever." He eyed him incredulously, grabbing the keys off of the table behind Crowley before stepping around him, "I have to go get my brother." Then, "Don't worry, I won't tell your cronies their king was moaning with his dick in my mouth." He didn't have time to analyze his feelings. That would have to wait.

It was at that moment that Crowley snapped forward, reached up, and grabbed Sam's chin between his fingers. He held it, staring heavily into his eyes. He was close, and his anger was apparent. Though... "Sam..." It was more than just anger. "I could just as easily explain in thorough detail to your newly located brother... how loud you moan when I shove my cock into your tight, sculpted ass." He hummed, a quirk of his devilish smile returning to him. "How you came for me when I didn't even touch that Moose-worthy cock of yours..." His voice lowered to a whisper, face just inches from Sam's own. "... Ass alone." 

Sam's lips tightened as Crowley grabbed him, something more than anger flashing in his eyes as he realized what Crowley was saying... was exactly what happened, "You just can't take it, can you?" A dangerous smile twitched at his lips, and he inched closer to Crowley's face daringly, "That you fell into bed with a human? That you lost your mind for me, Sam Winchester, willingly, for a few drops of my blood?" He breathed a curious laugh, inching closer still, "How does it feel Crowley? To be so human that you want me, right now? You're not mad, you're turned on." He couldn't stop. What in Hell was he trying to prove? "I make you that way, don't I?"

Crowley huffed a sigh, not backing off in the least as Sam inched even closer. His eyes narrowed. "... Yes. I am turned on, Sam Winchester." He admitted, but the way he breathed Sam's name was like a curse and an invitation all in one. "Although... I'm not the only one." He stepped in against Sam's body, grabbing his crotch-- and the shape of the hard, unforgiving metal beneath Sam's pants--with intention. "If it weren't for this pretty little cage... I'm certain I'd be able to see just how happy you are to see me."

Shit. Sam bore his teeth just to breathe as Crowley grabbed him. His gaze burned a line of fire down to Crowley, mind racing. He still had the cage  
on.

He towered over Crowley, feeling a rush of vulnerability sink into his bones, "You want to see just how happy I am to see you?" He called his bluff, "Then take it off." He dared him, eying him with dangerous intent.

Crowley's grin only grew wider. He stepped his body right into Sam's, staring up at him harshly. "... Strip." He growled, his breath hot with obvious interest. 

It only took a second for Sam to process what he'd just done, but once he did, the fire in his eyes deepened. "No." He husked, then grabbed Crowley by that stupid flowery tie, forced him back into a library chair, and straddled him, sucking him into a heated, all consuming kiss before Crowley could shove him off. What the Hell had gotten into him?

And Crowley... allowed it. No, he encouraged it, even. Surprised, but by no means shoving it (or Sam) off, Crowley growled as he slammed back into that chair. A growl that ended up humming into Sam's mouth intently. Crowley's hands slipped around Sam's hips, gripping hard into his ass as he kissed back. As he fought for control, nipping Sam's lip, kissing him hard, sucking and nipping on his tongue. 

Sam fought right back. He pushed Crowley into that chair, sucking and nipping on his lips and tongue as his hands maneuvered up Crowley's chest. They popped the buttons on his overcoat, pulling it off of him as his hips ground into Crowley's lap rather unsuccessfully (at least for Sam - all he could feel was warm, suffocating metal).

Crowley's growls reinvigorated as Sam pulled his overcoat off, but with a decisive grunt and a shake of his arms, he abandoned the coat, shaking it off onto the floor, leaving him in his suit. And... Sam was suddenly far too clothed. Crowley's arms pulled right back up to Sam's sides, but before they did, all of Sam's buttons unfastened all at once, demonic magic stepping in to help. And just after they did, Crowley was shoving the shirt back off over Sam's shoulders, pulling back from the kiss only momentarily to swipe Sam's undershirt off over his head, throwing it somewhere, leaving Sam nude from the waist up. Which Crowley took full advantage of. Grinding up into the unforgiving metal in Sam's pants, he nipped his lip, and tugged on Sam's exposed nipple, twisting. 

Sam exclaimed in surprise, but the sound fell to a dark growl, rumbling against Crowley's lips as Sam's body lit up with sparks. He ground into Crowley's lap again in frustration, feeling his shape against Sam's ass but nothing else. Fuck. Crowley was enjoying this, wasn't he? Sam's hands flew to his belt buckle, undoing it with a clang, then unfastening his pants.

The sound echoed in Crowley's ears. He breathed a low roar of arousal into Sam's mouth, and after grabbing hard under Sam's shoulder and tight under his thigh, Crowley heaved the two of them up and out of the chair, using demonic strength to slam Sam back into the nearest wall, hiking his thigh up at his hip and grinding hard into Sam's front along with the action. In the next moment, some unholy force was splitting the thick denim of Sam's pants all the way down the front of each leg as Crowley continued to invade Sam's mouth with his forceful kiss. One, hard tug at the front of the shredded denim in the next second had the ruined pants dumped on the floor beneath them, Sam's boxers destroyed, off, and mixed up somewhere in the mess as well. 

Crowley ground again into Sam's hips. This time, only the metal of the cage and the smooth material of Crowley's trousers blocked his path. 

Despite Sam's current alpha male induced rampage, that show of force sent sparks down his body, making him strain desperately in his cage. Sam compensated by biting Crowley's lip and tugging at the full suit he was still wearing. How was that even fair? He pulled the coat jacket off his shoulders then swept the tie away to get at Crowley's pants, giving them the same rough treatment as his hips tried desperately to get some friction against Crowley's cock.

Crowley growled even louder, flinging the coat off of his shoulders with a flick of his wrists. But when Sam's hands went to Crowley's pants, instantly, he raised his finger. "... No." He warned. And with a quick slip of silk and a rush of invisible, demonic force, Sam's hands were whipped up above his head, the silver silk of Crowley's tie quickly slipping around and around and tying off, fastening Sam's arms to the stem of a wall-mounted sconce, heaving them up above his head. Crowley looked dangerous. "... You. Do not touch my belt, Sam." He hissed, his voice hot coals as he unfastened his first few shirt buttons. 

That distance between them didn't grow too far, however. In the next moment, Crowley was slamming himself against Sam's body, heaving him up, and spreading his thighs out forcefully on the wall. He reconnected their mouths in a possessive kiss. 

Sam gaped at him, but he didn't fight it. It felt too good. He groaned as Crowley pushed into him and kissed him, kissing back and nipping him hotly. That was always one of his favorite positions, feeling the girl's legs wrap around his waist... Sam couldn't help himself. He suddenly understood why they did that. Having Crowley between his legs like that, with nothing but two firm hands holding him up... Sam's legs wrapped around Crowley, his backside aching. He gripped the sconce above him with both hands, and rolled his hips into Crowley's. He held back a muffled moan, "Fine." He mumbled, catching and nipping Crowley's tongue. Because at the moment, he had something much better to concern himself with than a belt.

That was it: the moment Crowley's real smile started coming back to him. It quirked into Crowley’s expression between hot, feral kisses, his words were inquisitive growls. "Mm... Good... boy..." Sam could feel that smile rumbling against his lips, so he pulled his strength back a bit. And with one more hot nip to Sam's lip, Crowley's mouth trailed away down to his neck, sucking, nipping and biting him, marking him... on the other side, mirroring the beautiful cool rose that had blossomed on the right side of Sam's neck. Sam tilted his head as Crowley marked him, encouraging the play with a hot breath--anything to get Crowley's hands on him. 

Crowley's hips pressed harder into Sam's, and as they did, one of his hands pulled up to feel over Sam's body. His hip, the hot metal of the cage, abdomen, chest, shoulder... and right in the middle of a particularly hard neck bite, one of Crowley's fingers sank into Sam's mouth. 

Sam panted in realization, gripping the sconce a little tighter as he licked a line up Crowley's finger. And then, he planted his lips down and sucked shamelessly. He didn't care. He was so horny, and he couldn't even get hard. He gave Crowley a challenging nip in the midst of it, as if telling him to hurry up and unlock him. His length was throbbing what little it could, his whole body tingling and rushing with sensation.

"Oo..." Crowley shook his head, growling low in his throat as he thrust his hips hard into Sam's holding him up with the press of them alone as his other hand quickly sank into Sam's hair... and yanked. His head hit against the wall. "Play nice." Crowley cooed before going right back to biting Sam's neck. To gently thrusting two fingers in and out of Sam's mouth as he pulled his hair, timing it up with pulses into his hips--the shape of Crowley's excitement entirely noticeable. 

Sam gave a muffled growl, but with Crowley pulsing into Sam's hips, it didn't have much enthusiasm. He sucked and licked Crowley's fingers, letting up on his grip above to rest more on his body. He needed more. He needed that cage off.

Crowley purred into Sam's neck, nipping into that spot again and again as Sam sucked his fingers. As he ground their hips together... 

"Sam," Crowley's voice rumbled softly into his neck. And just as it did, his fingers popped out from between Sam's lips, his other hand crawling down to grab firmly at the underside of Sam's thigh. "What do you want?" His saliva-slicked fingers dropped down, his wrist brushing obviously against the heated metal of Sam's cage as it passed by. "Tell me what it is... Darling." Those slick fingers were suddenly tracing along the underside of Sam's ass, his opposite hand groping and feeling him there while he ran his fingers along the cleft of his backside. Where he traced around a sensitive ring of muscle. 

Sam wasn't sure how he felt about being called darling, but he was very sure how he felt about being touched like that, "I want you... to take off the cage." He husked, reaffirming his grip on the sconce in anticipation, "And then...I want you to fuck me." His lips trembled, eying Crowley darkly as he tried to keep himself under control with those fingers on his entrance. His length ached. He didn't know what he would do if Crowley actually fingered him like this. His chest heaved at the prospect.

At Sam's words, Crowley dipped his head in close, connecting their gazes. And as he spoke, he shared Sam's breath. His voice was low. "... Beg me." He growled. And just as he did, his finger slipped into Sam's ass, working immediately into the shape of his prostate. 

Sam groaned low in his throat, trying not to rip the sconce off the wall. But, holy shit, his whole body writhed like a wave against Crowley's body, expression screwing up. He panted, hard, gravity pushing him down on that finger, "Shit! Crowley... take it off. Please!" He begged, teeth clenched and growling, "Fuckme..."

"Hmm..." Crowley twisted his finger inside of Sam, turning it about. "I don't know... I think you can do better than that, love." Another twist. And this one was punctuated by another finger pressing into Sam, another hard twist into his pleasure zone, Crowley kissing Sam's neck with a hum. 

A hot moan pressed out of Sam's lungs, muscles tightening everywhere to compensate for the sensations jolting endlessly in his groin. He mouthed Crowley's name silently, uselessly, unable to breathe, until, "F..fuck! Crowley! Please!" He burst, breathing desperately, "Take...take it off." A gasp, "Please!" He didn't care about the sconce anymore, ready to rip it off the wall as his legs tightened around Crowley in desperation. He didn't have the coordination to do anything else at the moment.

Crowley hummed a satisfied chuckle, feeling and seeing and hearing Sam's perfect response. And with a quick snap of his (mostly) unoccupied fingers against Sam's thigh, the keyhole-less lock at the front of the cage ...unhinged. Some invisible force kept Sam's hips up and pinned to the wall behind him as, slowly, Crowley slipped the metal tube of the cage off, leaving the cock ring it attached to in its place at the base of Sam's balls. And then, another knead into Sam's prostate, Crowley's other hand grabbing hard again at his upper thigh and ass, holding him up with strength yet again. 

Sam had wondered how that lock worked, but that was a while ago. At the moment, he wasn't thinking about locks at all. Sam breathed in satisfaction, feeling freed in at least one way. And as he relaxed into those invisible forces, Crowley kneaded him again. This time, Sam moaned shamelessly, loving that hand on his ass, that strength beneath him... Sam groaned through his lips, "Crowley..." rolling his hips into his. The feeling of those pants against his length felt incredible, "Crowley. The ring.." He sighed, "Please..."

Crowley clicked his tongue. "Aww... You don't like it?" He cooed, rolling his hips into Sam's as he pulsed into his prostate again, moving his lips in against Sam's ear. "No cock rings today then, darling?" A nibble on his earlobe as, suddenly, a third finger was pushed inside of Sam, twisting, opening him up. 

Sam groaned.

"No. Please..." He husked. He sucked in a deep, steadying breath, "I want to come… on your cock." He eyed him. His gaze was fire, hungry, "Ah...touch me. Please."

"Mmm..." Crowley purred. "Well... All right. Since you asked... so nicely..." And, just as promised, the next moment had Crowley's fingers gently pulling Sam's balls through that ring one at a time, removing it, and Sam’s breathing shallowed... Before Crowley stroked firmly down over his cock and twisted inside of him into his prostate. 

Sam’s breath left him in a deep groan.

Sam's body rolled like a wave against the wall, taut muscles pulling against the sconce above him. Oh, that felt good... "Mm...ohh. Yeah..." Sam exhaled in thanks, head tipping back and elongating his body on Crowley's fingers. It felt like all of the blood surging through him flooded his length and balls at once. He was nearly completely hard already in Crowley's grasp.

Crowley dipped in to Sam's neck, kissing him lightly. "Mm, is that right?" Another kiss into his neck, another twist of his fingers inside of him, and a long, firm stroke of his cock. "You're so happy to see me, Sam... aren't you?" And without even waiting for Sam to answer, somehow (even with both of his hands occupied), there was a clink of a belt. Crowley's pants unfastened in the front. His fingers slid out of Sam, Crowley stroking Sam's cock again... and then Crowley's arousal, slick with something, was pushing inside of him instead. Filling him. 

Sam moaned, loud. "Ohh, shit!" His expression opened up and screwed up, back arching against the wall. He didn't even feel the sting of his own words used against him, all he felt was overwhelming pleasure, filling him from the bottom up. Finally, his breath caught up with him in quiet, encouraging pants and curses, muscles jumping with every inch deeper, "Yes... yes..don't stop." He gripped the sconce hard, feeling gravity sheath him onto Crowley's cock and biting back moans.

Crowley's unoccupied hand gripped hard into the side of Sam's thigh and ass, pulling Sam gently onto his arousal as he sank into him. And his other hand... it pulled up over Sam's cock, twisting his grip all the way up to his head. Slowly. Everything slowly. Everything was going almost slow enough to be a torture of its own, but with Sam groaning and moving and looking like he did... Crowley wanted to extend it as long as possible. 

That slow pace drew out Sam's moans. Long, ravaged, like it felt so good that Sam was losing his mind. Finally, however, the last inch of Crowley's length was sheathed inside of Sam, flesh meeting flesh. Having finally felt Crowley reach that familiar, yet still unfathomable depth into Sam's body, Sam tipped his head with a heavy, utterly pleasured sigh. Slowly, the grip over Sam's length paused around his tip, squeezing him there lightly, and Sam’s breath shuddered softly.

And in the midst of the pause, Crowley dipped in close to Sam's lips. And he kissed him. Just like that, in the heat of their passion and embedded completely inside of him, he kissed him. And it was a long kiss, not fast and hard and desperate, but almost... gentle. 

In that moment, not even Crowley was sure why that was. But it was ...nice. 

Sam couldn't help but kiss back. The way Crowley kissed him felt right. The way their bodies interlocked, the way Sam was stretched out bare on his heat, the way Crowley held him and touched him everywhere, it all felt right.

Sam opened the kiss slowly, tasting Crowley in that intimate moment, extending it. And then, without realizing it, he was relaxing, loosening his grip on the sconce and letting Crowley's length impale him completely. A soft moan slipped past his lips and into Crowley's, his length leaking pleasurably.

That sound of Sam's, muffled so sweetly by Crowley's lips, it was so good. And after another moment of indulging in that opened, intimate kiss, Crowley finally began to move. He sucked in a deep breath against Sam's nose, releasing it slowly against his skin as he drew his hips back, and gently, pushed himself back into Sam, twisting his grip up and stroking down Sam's length along with the motion. Then he did it again. A gentle thrust, a pull over Sam's length, circling his thumb over his slit, and spreading the wetness that had accumulated there. 

Sam moaned openly that time, leaning on Crowley heavily. And when Crowley did it again, Sam made a breath of a sound that was more like a whimper than any noise he'd made so far. Low, but desperately aroused. Crowley was in him so deep, and the attention he was giving to his length was unbearably satisfying. Slowly, Sam began rolling his hips, working his muscles to stir Crowley's length inside of him with each thrust, slow, rubbing his length into Crowley's hand almost submissively.

Crowley's lips crawled down Sam's jaw, nipping curiously as he continued his motions. "That's it, Sam..." He encouraged, lacing his attentions with kisses as he drew his hand up Sam's length again in a powerful stroke. And after Crowley drew his hips back once more, the pace began to pick up. He pushed himself into Sam a little faster, his grip on his hip digging into his skin as he worked to control Sam's rolls on him, speeding them up. "Relax... enjoy it..." 

Sam's motions melded easily with Crowley's. Those lips, that hand, those thrusts, Sam was coming undone with every breath. His eyes closing as their bodies moved in unison, leaning on Crowley, doing exactly as he said. Small sounds of pleasure and encouragement escaped him with every roll, every stroke, every word uttered to him until he was moaning softly against Crowley, giving even the pace over to him.

Crowley actually... barely noticed. All he noticed was Sam's sounds, the way he moved, and the way their bodies mingled together hung against that wall. Crowley kissed Sam again, letting the heat from his lips speak for him in that time. Until that wasn't enough. "You're... such a pretty ornament... love..." Crowley purred, rocking into Sam's body and slipping him against the wall. He held tight to his thigh, pulling it in against the sliver of his hip free to the air. He tugged over Sam's length just a little harder, linking the pace of his hand up with quicker thrusts. And while a dark part of him wanted to continue to egg Sam on with the dirty talk, he couldn't quite manage it. He was far too distracted by how good the moment felt already. 

The feeling, however, was mutual. Sam could barely register anything but the waves of heat flushing him with each thrust and tug. Crowley's smell, his feel, everything was mingling so perfectly. Sam's legs tightened around Crowley, pressing and rocking against him more and more as his arms lay taut in their silk straps, resting just over their heads. His head rested against Crowley, moaning wordlessly into Crowley's ear, until the pace got a little more out of him, "Crow...Crowley.....yes." He moaned, "Please...More. It'sso good..." He muttered, kissing Crowley's ear in a slow, smoldering desire.

How could Crowley refuse that request?

Without even a word of back talk, immediately, the pace picked up. Crowley inched into Sam harder and faster, twisting and gripping his arousal in quicker strokes--his grip over Sam's engorged length was almost as tight as that which he held over his hip. A grip which tightened even more, nails digging into Sam's taught skin as Crowley began to ram Sam into the wall with his every thrust. The humid feel of Sam's breath and moans and words against his ear were almost as intoxicating as his rich human blood. Crowley couldn't explain it. But he had no interest in doing so in that hot moment. 

Sam moaned hotly against Crowley's skin, pulling at the silk tie as Crowley gave him exactly what he asked for. His body tightened around him, mirroring Crowley's grip, as he arched into it, pushing his chest against his, "Ohh... yeah. Yes.... Crowley..." He groaned, "Just like that..yeah...yeahh."

"Hmmm..." Crowley hummed back in arousal, panting lightly against Sam's neck as his thrusts and his strokes continued at their quickened pacings. And just as Crowley twisted down over him another time, he twisted his hips, adjusting... so every thrust wouldn't just pass by Sam's pleasure spot, but slam directly into it. 

Sam gave a strangled sort of cry in pleasure, his body lighting up, "Yes! Ohh... yeah!" He moaned, head tipping back, baring his whole body for Crowley.

"Mm...." Crowley buzzed, slamming into that spot again and again, linking it right up with the pulls at Sam's impressive, straining arousal. "Sam... you're so.. beautiful..." He growled. And while a part of it was an attempt at poking him... it was also sincere. Sam was. 

Crowley's words, as unexpected as they were, floated right past Sam's senses and made his body warm in a way Sam would normally never let happen with Crowley. But at the moment, it felt so good, and combined with those continued perfect thrusts and strokes, Sam was unraveling fast, feeling his release swelling deep in his body, "Crow...Crowley..." He panted warmly, almost purring for him. 

Crowley gave another stroke into his prostate, his hand slipping down and squeezing Sam's balls. 

"Crowley!" Sam exclaimed, shuddering as his balls tightened and Sam's release rushed his length all at once. Sam's muscles jumped, squeezing around Crowley as Sam was suddenly holding back an orgasm. But being stretched open and tied up in front of Crowley, Sam couldn't stop it. He came anyway.

At Sam's sudden orgasm, the way he squeezed around Crowley, unravelling so wonderfully... Crowley felt himself on the edge as well. He hummed, gripping Sam's thigh hard as he felt the first signs of Sam’s release.

A helpless groan tumbled off his lips as he came in hard, sudden spurts onto Crowley's shirt, body crumbling against the wall, moaning the King of Hell's name in ecstasy. It felt like all the air was being sucked out of him, out of the room, replaced with something warm and heavy. A presence.

"Sam." A raspy voice echoed in the bunker library.

Castiel.

He stood not ten feet away, having appeared all at once after what looked like a terrible journey. He looked disheveled, although in an entirely different way than Sam, who was in fact, in the middle of an orgasm.  
Castiel tilted his head seriously at the sight before him. Was Crowley... hurting him?

Even on the edge of his own orgasm as he was, Crowley understood. And he also understood just how frustratingly inconvenient the clueless angel's timing seemed to be. "Bloody... hell," he cursed, his annoyance seeping through the heat of his arousal, threatening to break it down like an acid. But as close as he was, and with Sam unraveling so perfectly in the midst of a pleasure high... Crowley couldn't just stop. Castiel would have a pass for just a moment. 

Closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling surrounding him, Crowley bared down, gripping Sam hard as he pounded him into the wall, his pace doubling, always hitting Sam's prostate, growling out his frustrations and arousal loudly into Sam's ear as the sconce he was hanging from shook with his efforts. As the whole wall seemed to shake. And not too long after, Crowley was thrusting himself deep and hard into Sam, spilling his own release into him with a growled hiss, dragging his nails hard down Sam's thigh, leaving marks. Despite the audience, it was still good. It was still very worth it. 

Castiel blinked.

Sometime between coming so hard Sam's head hurt, and feeling Crowley fuck him so hard into the wall that he swore the sconce broke off, Sam realized what was going on. His eyes reeled off of Crowley, and the first thing he saw was, "Cas?" Sam blanched, forgetting all about his post-orgasm high. His expression opened up immediately, chest swelling, "Shit!" Sam's voice went high, trying to squirm off of Crowley's dick but still getting those tingles that threw him off balance. Like an uncoordinated moose. Shit shit shit. 

A moment passed by. With a steadying hiss, Crowley drew himself out of Sam, quickly and efficiently zipping his pants back up and fastening his belt as he relaxed Sam's feet to the ground. With a quick zip of demon mojo, the suggestive stains on the front of Crowley's dark shirt were gone, the tie holding Sam in place was slipping off of his wrists and into Crowley's grip, and he turned quickly on his heel, slinging the silver silk over his shoulder.

Sam nearly fell when Crowley pulled out, flushing hard, but not nearly as much as when the tie came off, and the sconce actually did break off the wall. He stared at it in his hands, then at Cas (Cas's brows getting impossibly closer together), then finally, frustration set in. What was Cas doing here?

Just as he'd moved the sconce down to shield his dick, he got hit with the crumpled form of Crowley’s long overcoat. Deciding Sam needed it a little more at the moment, Crowley had thrown back at Sam. Thank god. Or the devil. Or whomever.

"Castiel." Crowley began, his voice clipped. "To what honour do we owe this unprecedented angelic visit? Hm?" His words didn't match his tone. Anger seeped through his teeth as the room perceptibly chilled, a steady growl working through his every word. He was buttoning the few undone buttons at the front of his shirt as he spoke, fastening the last at his neck and slipping his tie around his collar as he continued, beginning to tie it.   
“As you may or may not be able to tell, I kowtow at your presence and presently await to hang on your every word. So, please..." He gave a sinister, stiff smile, tightening his Windsor knot with a strong pull up to his neck. Flipping his collar down, he snapped his fingers, his crumpled suit jacket jumped up over his extended arms, and he straightened it, smoothing the flats of his hands down over the front panels as he sneered in disgust. "... Enlighten me." He looked like he'd just stepped out of the flames of hell. As good as new. And very, very unpleased. 

Sam had been listening keenly, but the seams on Crowley’s coat were too tight, and it just barely reached his knees, and Sam’s hands were shaking too hard to button it properly. He had to set the sconce down…

Castiel looked from him to Crowley, unsure of what to make of it all, but determined. He took a step forward, and suddenly it was clear that he was even less put together than Sam.

Castiel ignored Crowley completely, walking haggardly to Sam like his life depended on it. Crowley's eyes closed in frustration as Castiel outrightly ignored him. 

"Sam. Take this." Castiel had withdrawn a blade made of bone from his trench coat, handing it hastily to Sam, who gave up buttoning his coat to take it. 

As Castiel's words filtered into a mindset which would have otherwise been filled with bliss--not annoyance and frustration-- Crowley's eyes jumped open. He turned back to face the two disheveled boys. Sure enough, the First Blade was held tight in Sam's hand. That tricky angel. Crowley was convinced Dean still had it; he was planning to make some sort of deal to grab it from him. But since Castiel had swiped it... Maybe things had just gotten easier. 

"You can't let Dean have this. No matter what. Destroy it if you have to. Do you understand?"

Sam gaped, but, "Yeah. Sure, Cas." Then it clicked, "Wait, Dean...?" And then it all came back to him. What the Hell had he been doing? He had to go get his brother. Anger washed over him, but before he could finish his question...

"Good. I have to go. I have to protect him." He drew a fist to his mouth, suddenly overcome by a coughing fit.

Crowley raised a brow. "... Bad day in the heavenly coal mines?" He spewed sarcastically, his mood beginning to shift as he kept the First Blade in his periphery. 

Castiel glanced over at Crowley, straightening himself up as best he could. His wings flared out, eying Crowley accusingly, "I don't know how you did this to Dean." His eyes sparked with knowing, "But we're undoing it." He warned. And in an instant, he was gone, leaving Sam to stare wildly at Crowley with nothing but that coat and the First Blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting for this next chapter, guys! We'll be back to one per week for a little while. The plot is going to start to get heavy, so buckle up :) next up is Destiel, but there will be more Mooseley love soon! And by love... we of course mean smut. OR DO WE???
> 
> Smut you all <3


	15. Dean and Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Castiel leaves Sam, he returns to the motel room to find Dean.

Castiel wished he could've stayed to help Sam fight off Crowley, or capture him, or do whatever it was Sam was doing (Who knew Sam was already so on top of this? There really was nothing the Winchester brothers couldn't handle), but at least Sam had the First Blade now...

\---

"It's not here."

"What do you mean it's not here?"

"It's not here! That's what I fucking mean!"

Two demons, who could have easily passed for college frat brothers, were meandering about Dean and Castiel's tiny motel room, pulling through the few meager things they'd brought in.

Meanwhile, Dean, very drunk and very apathetic, was laughing bodily, sprawled out on the bed. "He left me... He left me... 'cuz he... hates... Hates me now. Nmmf...Nevr.. get... Get laid..."

"Dude! Shut up!" One of the demons-- the one wearing an orange jersey and cargo shorts--turned on Dean, throwing his hands down angrily. And a dirty sock right at his face.

It hit him in the middle of the forehead, slipping off onto the sheets beside him. Dean's laughing quieted... but didn't stop. His shoulders bounced with stifled giggles as he rolled over onto his stomach. 

"Wow... So this is the infamous Dean Winchester. Really?" The other demon, a light blue polo and dark jeans his garb, piped up, pawing again through Dean's bag of clothes. "I can't believe Crowley is seriously pairing up with these two idiots."

"He's sleeping with the other one, you know." The jersey-clad demon scoffed.

A frown from Brother Polo. "I know. That rumor has already spread like wildfire."

"I don't care how long it takes, we're finding that First Blade, we are banning together with the other revolutionaries... Then we take Crowley out."

"Bro." Polo demon raised his eyebrows, shifting his head towards Dean, pointing him out. "He's not deaf. He's on the king's side."

"Aw, come on. He's as good as deaf." The other demon shook his head, pulling the dresser drawers open and knocking around in their empty bottoms. "He's drunker than you were at Rush." 

A loud, burst of a giggle came from Dean, followed by a mattress-muffled snort. 

Polo guy blinked, scoffing. "Whatever." 

"I'm serious." Orange Jersey laughed. "You were dancing around on tables; you actually had a lampshade on your head and everyth--"

"And I'm serious," Polo plopped the bag back on the chair hard. "Stop talking about it, and just keep looking. It's here somewhere. And we're going to be the ones to find it."

"Right. Like we're actually going to be at the head of this revolt. You know once we find The Blade, some... stuffy crossroads demon is going to swoop in and steal our glory. We'll never actually be on top."

"Well," Polo scoffed. "...We'll never get our chance if we don't find it.. and somebody takes the king out. He's helped out hunters and angels far too many times to truly be on Hell's side anymore." 

A sigh. "... Yeah. Whatever, man. I'm going back and checking that ride of his again." He pointed over his shoulder to Dean, then glanced towards the window and the parked Impala. "Maybe there's another way into that trunk of his with a little force. It's probably under whatever trap or spell he's got protecting the thing. Seriously... Why ward against yourself? He's a demon now, too, so he can't get in it either."

"Idiots."

"Yeah. Total idiots." 

As if on cue, there came a rush of air, then, all at once, the sound of an angel... coughing.

The demons jumped. "It's the angel!" Orange Jersey yelled, both of them dropping what they were doing to get into a fighting stance.

Castiel came in for a rough landing. He stumbled onto his knees in front of the bed, wings crooked and bent against the ceiling. He tried to keep from falling onto the floor, but his head drooped. He spotted Dean before face-planting, and before he could figure out if Dean was alright, he spotted the demons.

"Get away from him." Castiel roared hoarsely, wings trying to raise off the floor but failing. He couldn't stop coughing. He couldn't get up. He tried to angel magic himself to Dean, but all the light bulbs in the room burst in the circle from where he lay crumpled, and Castiel coughed some more.

The demons relaxed, ignoring the falling glass as they realized that Castiel was totally helpless.

"... You seem to be having some trouble, Castiel." Polo guy raised a brow, heading towards Castiel. The soft daytime light filtered in through the poorly curtained window, lighting his pathway.

"Yeah..." The other one added in, straightening up. With a confident smirk, he rammed his foot down into Castiel's wing, holding him in place. "That sucks for you... considering we're not in the best of moods." A kick into Castiel's ribs. "And we could really use an outlet." 

Castiel crumpled, coughing onto the carpet on his side. His other wing could barely lift itself, "What..." He tried to speak, but his vision was already fading in and out. He wanted to pass out. But... Dean. "What do you want...with Dean?" He breathed.

"With Dean?" Orange Jersey repeated, chuckling lightly. "Oh... he thinks we're here for the Winchester. How cute."

"I guess it's cute. But... not really. I think it's kind of annoying." Polo returned flatly. 

"Huh. I guess you're right." Another kick to Castiel's side.

Polo bent down, grabbing Castiel's hair. He tugged it up so he could look into his eyes. "We had orders to bring that Winchester back to the other one. But... we're not interested in playing along anymore. We're here for the blade." He pulled him in close, locking his gaze with Castiel's. "Do you know where it is?"

They wanted... the First Blade? Castiel would've sighed in relief if he had the strength. They'd never find it. Not anymore.

"... Cas...?" Dean's voice. Groggily, eyes squinting and generally disheveled, Dean somehow managed to wobble up to a sit on the bed. His eyes hazy, he seemed to take in what was occurring. But his mental processes were so clouded, it wasn't fully clear.

"Dean." Castiel called back, voice rough, worn, relieved Dean was okay but undeniably fading. His eyes rolled back to Polo, finding strength enough to answer, "The blade is hidden. And you'll never find it."

The polo guy raised his brows silently. Then, he turned to the other demon, lowering Castiel's head in his grip. Completely ignoring Dean. "Huh... He says we'll never find it."

"Never? Really?" Orange Jersey stooped down, tugging Castiel up by the collar and out of the other demon's hand. "It sounds to me like you know exactly where it is." A smile. Then he threw Castiel across the room, slamming him into the dresser. 

"C... Cas!" Dean yelled, stumbling up off the bed to a stand. He panted, eyes snapping from Castiel, to the demons, then back to Cas. He ignored the demons completely, stumbling--but barely-- to Castiel. He seemed to be regaining coordination in the face of this threat. He dropped to Castiel's side. "H... Hey, are you... okay?" He mumbled, touching Castiel's shoulder. His words were only slightly slurred. 

But as Dean's coordination returned to him, Castiel's left him. He lay in a heap on the floor, barely moving, "Dean." He whispered, moving a hand weakly out to the side for him. But he couldn't find him. He coughed again, this time blood, onto the motel carpet.

That sobered Dean up. Quick. "C.. Cas!" He burst, immediately leaning in. He saw Cas's hand grasping, and with a blink, he took it, holding it securely. "Cas... You're... Holy shit. You're bleeding." 

"Dean..." Castiel rumbled again, looking desperately up at Dean. Had they... poisoned him? He sounded strange. Castiel never should have left him alone, "I'm sorry." He breathed weakly, body relaxing with Dean's grip so strong.

"It's... Why are you apologizing, Cas?" He murmured, leaning in a little closer, his voice lowering. "It's not your fault. None of ...any of this is. And you're... ah... shit..." He looked him over again, his grip on his hand clasping. 

"Hey!" Orange Jersey demon yelled, moving in close. "We were having a conversation here, drunkie. Butt out!" And with that, he threw a fist. 

Which Dean caught. Quickly, he turned around, holding that fist hard in his grip. Deans eyes were flashing with fire. "No. You. Butt out."

"What the--" the demon blurted, baring down. Only Dean used even more force, bending the demon's arm back. And just as he did, the other demon, Polo, was running up behind Dean, trying to use the distraction to knock him off balance. But expertly, Dean released his grip, throwing Jersey down. Quickly, he ducked into Castiel's pocket, removing the gleaming angel blade from within. In his next movement, surprisingly swift and elegant for someone so intoxicated, he stabbed the rigid blade of the knife into Polo's ribs. He fizzled yellow sparks, then slumped. Dead. 

"Shit!" Jersey exclaimed, jumping to his feet and drawing his own weapon. The crumpled body of the expired demon slumped to the floor as deftly, Dean parried the new attack. The demon missed his mark and slid past Dean... and easily, Dean stabbed into the thing's back. Another fizzle, another spark, and that one was down, too. It thunked against the carpeting. 

Castiel was silent. Distantly, he'd heard two bodies fall, but he knew they weren't Dean's. He lay belly down on the carpet on the cusp of consciousness, feathers crooked and limp.

"Cas..." Dean again, frozen as he caught Castiel's eyes. Oh. He didn't like what he saw there. He looked... "Cas!" Dean called again, a burst of speed and power ripping through him, allowing him to cover the space separating them in no time. He kneeled down beside him, looking left, then right, then he grabbed his shoulder. Despite the surge of power that had pulsed through him, he felt... hopeless. Oh, shit. Even Cas's wings were... "Cas, are you... you okay...?"

Castiel's breathing was soft, raspy, "I need..." He murmured, eyelids drooping, "to heal." He said, although it sounded like a plea. He was trying to get up, to get to the bed, maybe sleep, but he couldn't do it. He coughed, reaching out weakly for Dean's help.

"I, uh... Y-yes," Dean answered, looking pale. And without even thinking about it, he reached out for Castiel's hand... and ended up taking him entirely into his arms, pulling him up and carrying him the few paces to the bed. Gently, he placed him down atop the sheets, brushing a piece of hair out of his face. "What... do you need, Cas? What... what can I do?" Dean asked helplessly. Even though he knew what was wrong, Castiel's grace failing, he had no idea what to do. It was terrifying. 

Castiel sank gratefully into the bed, wings spread out gently. And, as he closed his eyes, finally starting to feel his wounds go numb and his mind slow with sleep, he stretched out an arm and murmured, "I'd like it... if you stayed...with me." Whether he'd forgotten Dean was a demon or simply didn't care was unclear. But in either case, one thing was certain: Castiel wanted him with him. He felt... safe.

"I... I, um..." Dean seemed to really consider that as much as he could. Finally, however, he sat down on the side of the bed, taking Castiel's hand. "... I'll stay.. as long as you need." And the closer he got to Cas, entirely inappropriate as it was in that moment... the more his skin heated. The more he wanted to get even closer. He gripped Cas's hand hard. Shit. Shit, shit-- why was he like this?

Castiel's breathing calmed at Dean's firm grip. He gripped back as much as he could, which wasn't a lot, but he gripped his hand anyway and closed his eyes, a grateful sigh leaving him. Within seconds he was asleep, lips parted slightly as his chest slowly rose and fell. A speck of blood lingered at the corner of his mouth, his feathers and clothes askew.

Dean watched carefully. He saw Castiel close his eyes, then watched as his body relaxed. Which, at first, was terrifying. Was Castiel okay? Was he...?

No. He was just... asleep. Dean released a breath, his eyes wandering over Castiel's sleeping form. Still odd, but... Cas's body had a lot of healing to do. Could it even heal at all--?

Oh, shit, it was so wrong to think that Castiel's shifted clothes and that speck of blood on his lip was so... sexy. 

Dean made a small noise, swallowing hard. His hand hovered above him... then softly, he took the time to straighten his shirt, smooth out his trench coat, tighten his tie... He looked at it oddly. Then he pulled it loose again. Cas didn't wear his tie tight. And that speck of blood was staring at him, so Dean leaned in, and licked it off. Angel blood. Interesting. It had a sort of burn, not unlike hot peppers, it wasn't bad, just unexpecte--

"Holy shit," he cursed, his body leaning back. He'd just licked Cas's lip. Holy shit. What the fuck. What the-- 

He really wanted to do that again. He leaned in close, heart racing, eyes dilating. He should have been helping Cas, not wanting to jump him. 

Castiel didn't wake, just stirred slightly, tilting his head towards Dean. And whether it was just timing or not, Castiel's hand gripped Dean's a little more.

Timing or not, that looked like... an invitation. "... Cas," he whispered, still leaning in over him, his arm on Castiel's opposite side, hovering. Soon, his breath was brushing over Castiel's lips, and he was humming softly to himself. "I... Oh... fuck, I'm sorry Cas..." And one moment later, Dean was submitting to the fire in his blood, slipping his other hand up over the side of Castiel's face, brushing lips with lips, and kissing him. Something about Cas being in danger too... That made Dean need it. 

Castiel's grip increased a little more. And then, slowly, his other arm was moving, sliding up the sheets to touch the hand on his face. And, without opening his eyes, Castiel kissed Dean back. 

His wings shifted, like they took a breath. And soon Castiel's lips were parting beneath Dean's a little easier, not quite awake, but not quite asleep.

When he felt that shift in Cas--when he felt that he was kissing him back-- Dean's whole world narrowed down to just Castiel. And what was more, he felt himself... pick up entirely. Nothing else mattered. He needed Castiel. "Cuhss..." Dean mumbled into Cas's lips-- meant to be a name, but more like an excited hum. He ran his thumb over Cas's cheek beneath his hand, letting his body settle in above Castiel, weight pressing into him as his breaths became shaky. Gently, his lips opened, moving curiously over Castiel's, gently caressing lips with lips. 

Castiel's breath left him in a sigh at those soft touches, his lips parting. The weight felt good. His hand felt over to Dean's side, clutching him gently as he took in Dean's taste for a third time. He sighed again, this time longingly, against Dean's lips, his feathers raising just the slightest bit as he lingered between waking and sleep. Like he was having too good of a dream to let go, "Dnn..." He murmured, so softly that a human might not have even heard.

But a human Dean wasn't. He hummed softly back in response, his hold over him getting a little tighter. He gripped at Cas's trench coat hard, tugging at it, his lips becoming a little more firm in their kiss. And soon, unaware of it himself, he was tugging that just-righted trench coat off of Cas's shoulders, and ripping it out from beneath him to throw it on the floor. Dean's weight over Castiel became more noticeable. 

Castiel made a small sound-- something like discomfort. His hand left Dean's to mirror the other clutching his waist, holding him weakly, "Easy." He commanded, his voice weak and quiet with sleep. But it was that moment it became apparent that Castiel wasn't entirely asleep. His eyes were cracked, just enough to see the two smoky blues staring hazily up at Dean. He tipped his head against the pillow, pressing a slow kiss to the side of Dean's mouth, as his hands began gently feeling up Dean's sides.

The discomfort in Castiel's voice shook Dean out of his haze for just a moment. A shock of fear bolted through him, but Cas's hands, his gentle lips, they brought him back. He relaxed. "... Cas," Dean began, his voice hesitant. When he resumed, he was whispering. "... Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine." He sighed against Dean's skin, "I just... need to heal." His wings fluttered a bit, spreading out on the bed as he lay with Dean. Maybe it was the vulnerable state he was in, maybe it was knowing that Dean was in danger, too. Either way, laying with Dean... felt good, "It might... take a while." He apologized, hands moving up Dean's back. He was so warm. Castiel didn't want him to move, "Dean..." He whispered hazily. He needed... something. He could feel it. He just didn't understand what it was. He closed his eyes against Dean's skin, taking sanctuary in his warmth.

Castiel... despite how... distracting he was, how cute that little flutter in his wings was... Shit. There was just one more thing he needed to know. Dean found strength again, and he straightened his back up, looking down at Castiel as he kneeled over him. "Cas... Where did you go? Did you do something ... something stupid?" Cas had flown away the moment Dean had told him his big secret. He'd been so scared. Dean almost felt betrayed. "Tell me." He commanded, his feelings transparent. 

Castiel looked at him blankly, as if lost in thought. Or maybe he just didn't have the strength to think. He sighed softly, then, "I hid the first blade. It's safe now." He looked at Dean sadly, "I'm sorry, Dean." He told him, voice faltering with a small cough, "I'm going... to stay with you... until we figure out how to undo this. But I need to, heal. Flying... uses grace. And I..." Castiel looked up at Dean, for the first time afraid of what was going to happen to him. Dean needed him now.

"Sh... shut up, Cas..." Dean muttered, covering his eyes with his hand. He sighed, then removed it, looking down at him seriously. Leaning in close and touching his face softly. "... You're not going to use any grace from now on. None. I can... I can take care of you myself, all right? You're..." He paused, his voice catching in his throat. It took him several seconds to continue, and when he did, he was whispering. "... you're dying." A few moments went by. His breath shaking, Dean set a quick but gentle kiss to Castiel's forehead. Finally recovered enough to speak, he went on, catching Cas's eyes and holding them sturdily. "... When you feel rested enough... We're..." 

He could say it. He could say it. 

"We're finishing what we started earlier. We're going... we're going to do this right. Okay?" He gave a weak smile. "I need... you. And... and thinking about what could happen, what could--" he shook his head, leaning into Cas a little more. "... I'm not going to miss out on us just because I'm fucked-up emotionally, all right?"

Castiel wasn't entirely sure what Dean was talking about doing, but he understood the context, and he knew the answer: "All right." He repeated. He wanted it, too. He sighed against Dean, as if a great pressure was released from him, and slipped his hands a little closer behind Dean's back.

When Cas answered, Dean seemed to sigh, too, relaxing a multitude of absolved concerns into the shared space between them. The healing of his fears had begun, that first step finally taken. And it was clear in Dean's body language. There was still hurt and unease there--maybe just like there would always be-- but he almost smiled. 

"Dean..." Castiel murmured in the warm, sincere silence between them, "Can you..." He hesitated. It looked like there was something deeply personal he wanted to know, something he'd been holding back, but was presently too out of it to suppress, "Can you see my wings?" He mumbled.

And that did it. Finally, Dean did smile. It was small, and a little sad, but it was there. He picked himself up the slightest bit, then carefully, he slid his hand over the extended form of Castiel's left wing, its colors and shapes and forms finally in crystal clarity. They had a shimmery undertone of midnight blue. 

Castiel's eyes followed Dean's hand hesitantly, but when Dean touched his wing, actually... touched it... Castiel's eyes fluttered closed. His breath left him in a sigh, muscles relaxing. His wing stretched reflexively to the contact. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever had his wings touched. 

"... They're beautiful." Dean murmured softly, brushing a piece of dark hair out of Castiel's face. 

Castiel opened his eyes. They were warm -- an intimacy in him he couldn't express. Except... he could kiss Dean. 

So he did.

Castiel brought his hands up to cup the sides of Dean's face, and gently brought their lips together in a kiss.

That was the perfect response. Dean's eyes closed, his lips relaxing into Castiel's as his hand slipped up into his hair. Gently, he stroked through it as he kissed back, dragging his hand down Castiel's side. Under the flap of his suit jacket. Slowly, he edged that up, unconsciously beginning to work it off Cas's shoulder. He just... wanted to be closer. 

Castiel let him, realizing a similar desire. He eased out of the jacket, never straying far from Dean's lips, until he was down to his ruffled white shirt and tie, laying on the jacket and holding Dean close.

Dean had started to work at Castiel's tie, undoing it, leaving it untied around his neck to pop a few of Cas's shirt buttons. Dean's breathing picked up. He pulled away just enough to look over Castiel. How... ruffled he looked with his shirt unbuttoned like that. His tie undone. Wow, those wings... Just... "Fuck... You're... you're freakin' hot, Cas." He muttered breathily, unbelievably. Dean blinked down at him, about to freak out concerning his amazingly articulate observation... So... he distracted himself by taking off his own shirt. Dean pulled it over his head, throwing it somewhere in the room as, bare-chested, he got closer to Cas again. And... began work on the remaining buttons of Cas's shirt. Slow. 

Castiel was about to say something as well, but suddenly his eyes were falling to Dean's bare chest... and staying there. He forgot how to form words at all, actually. He watched Dean unbutton his shirt, finding his palms caressing up Dean's muscular arms. Finally, "You are... also. ...Freaking hot." He thought aloud, eyes shifting up to Dean's face uncertainly. It was sort of an odd phrase. But Castiel sort of didn't care what he was saying. Part of him was still out of it, but the other part was so distracted by what Dean was doing, by how he looked, smelled, by how different and desirable it all was, that he just really... didn't care, "Very. Hot." He mumbled.

"Ah..." Dean blinked, finding Castiel's eyes. He smiled. Hearing Cas say that was so... cute. And also massively arousing. Oh, hell, it was arousing. Dean was definitely sporting a stiffy. "Um... thanks." He mumbled, popping the last button on Castiel's shirt. Softly, he brushed it aside. Then looked over his pale, toned chest. He swallowed. "I... I really want you... right now, Cas, but..." He lowered, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. "... We'll wait. I... I promise. I just... maybe... we can rest together... and I can..." He breathed. Shit, he felt like a teenager again. He opened his eyes, his breath escaping him calmly. "... I want to feel... your body on... mine, Cas." 

What was he, a romance novel? Hell, he sounded so stupid. 

"I..." Castiel mumbled, looking up Dean hazily, "...would like that." He said sincerely, "Very much." Slowly, he kissed Dean, moving a hand back up Dean's arm. Dean kissed back, moving easily at Castiel's suggestions without even thinking about it. But this time, that hand guided Dean down onto the bed with him, gently smoothing his other arm under Dean's side and pulling him onto Castiel's button-up framed, but otherwise bare, chest. Castiel breathed gently against Dean's lips, getting used to the sensations Dean was coaxing out of him being so close. It felt... nice, "Dean." He murmured, as if in approval.

"... Yeah," Dean whispered against his lips. And after he did, he moved his hand, slipping just an inch under Castiel's belt line.. before moving over and unfastening it with a clink. Then a zip. "... Can I...?" Dean let the question hang in the air, his fingers clasping over both pants and undergarment. 

Castiel had barely moved, lips lingering where Dean's were, "Yes." He replied, voice a little huskier. Despite his drowsiness, his skin had a flush to it as he waited patiently for Dean to proceed.

Dean cleared his throat. "Mm... yeah. Okay," he whispered. And in that next moment, his hands were moving. And slowly, the pants and underwear both were sliding with them. Dean closed his eyes, which Castiel appreciated, slipping the clothes down Cas's legs, brushing against his skin. Then gently, they were removed. All of Castiel's clothes had been successfully removed. Dean opened his eyes. ".... Mmn." He muttered quietly, looking Cas's body over --really-- for the first time. All tight, toned muscle, pale skin, and dark, shimmering wings. How could the sight of another guy turn him on so much? The question echoed in his head, but not for long. Another thought intruded as Dean's eyes dropped lower. Cas was decently, uh... gifted. And excited. Fuck. Why was that even more of a turn on? He really was so horny. He didn't notice that he was staring. 

Castiel found himself appreciating Dean staring a little more. Still... "Dean." Castiel interrupted him. It was Dean's turn. Gently, Castiel reached over to undo the front of Dean's pants.

Dean blinked, snapping out of it with a start as Castiel undid his pants, finger brushing against his skin so close to his... "Right!" Dean agreed, nodding his head furiously and jumping off the bed for a moment. He held his hand over the fasten of his pants, looking around for a moment. Then, with a sniff, quickly and unceremoniously, he dropped his pants. Still commando, and somebody looked to be happy to join the party. He shuffled a little awkwardly as he slipped off his shoes, nearly losing his balance as he went for his second sock, but he caught himself... almost. He landed back on the bed, knocking in over the top of Castiel. "Ah... oops." He muttered, freezing in place as he picked his head up with a flush... and caught Castiel's eyes. 

Dean's sock popped off. He was completely nude. Both of them were. 

Castiel didn't seem bothered by it. In fact, now that he could see Dean's body clearly, he realized what a thing of beauty it was. Maybe he would've wondered if not all humans wore underwear all the time, or if not all humans were so clumsy when they took their clothes off, but Castiel wasn't wondering anything at the moment. His hands roamed almost innocently over Dean, transfixed by him in his current state. And when Castiel's hands found Dean's butt, his brows came together softly, but seriously...

He liked Dean's butt.

Castiel's eyes flickered up to Dean's, taking him into a slow, exploring kiss. Dean let it calm him, a little embarrassed from his near fall, "Dean." Castiel muttered, feeling his body warm and relax against Dean's, "You should... wear less clothing... more often." He mumbled. He wasn't entirely sure what he was saying, but it felt right.

Dean opened his eyes, widening almost disbelievingly. Did Cas really just say that? "Um, Cas..." He breathed, slipping the flat of his palm down over Castiel's side. "Keep saying stuff like that... and you're not resting up today."

Huh. Dean... liked that. Castiel looked at him, a little hesitant, but he enjoyed the way Dean's eyes got big, the way his hand moved over his body. Castiel sighed contently, "Dean." He moved his arm under Dean's side, holding him close, feeling their heat mingle below in a way that made Castiel want to stay awake very much. But... he was in pain. Dean was right, they needed to rest. He held back a cough, "We should rest." Then, a thought occurred to him, "Can you sleep?" He asked. 

Castiel's words were like ice water. Cas did need to sleep. And Dean... "... No." Dean admitted, trying desperately to ignore the remnants of heat and interest that plagued him below. But he wasn't going to worry Cas. He lowered his lips to Castiel's cheek, closing his eyes. "... But... this time, I'll watch over you." He picked his head up with a breath, shifting himself a little so he wasn't pressing so... obviously against him. He ran a hand through Castiel's hair, smiling softly. "It's about time I started paying you back."

"You don't have to do that." Castiel told him, but his eyes were already falling closed at that touch. His wing brushed up against Dean's back, like they were stretching out. Dean smelled so good. And he was so warm...

Dean felt it. And it felt nice. He brushed his hand out over Castiel's wing, stroking it gently. "I know," he mumbled, leaning in to press another kiss to Castiel's cheek. His other cheek. His forehead. His lips were still close as he whispered, "But I want to." 

Castiel looked like he wanted to retort, but, eyes closed and wings slowly sinking in place, Dean's words soothed him. He pressed his lips against Dean's softly, almost accidentally.

Dean could sense Castiel's initial hesitancy, but he didn't sense it at all in the soft kiss they shared. He released a long, held-in breath. And once it was out of him, so, too was all of his discomfort and hesitancy and doubt and all those crazy things he held clenched inside because he was afraid of being... hurt. But Cas wouldn't hurt him. He couldn't. And right then, Cas needed all the support he could glean. And Dean was going to be there for him... In the way he'd wanted to be for so long.

With nothing else besides that kiss and a satisfied hum, Castiel was falling asleep, arms hung around Dean, one wing draped over Dean's bare shoulder. It was the most comfortable Castiel had ever been, as human or angel. 

Dean relaxed atop him as he heard Castiel's breathing slow in sleep. And soon after, he felt a dull warmth. He opened reflexively closed eyes. Cas was... glowing. 

Already deep in sleep, Castiel wings had begun to glow softly, each gentle pulse breathing with grace. He was healing.  
... Dean didn't care that he was a man. Or an angel. Castiel was beautiful. Pure and simple. And Dean would protect him as long as he could. They'd get through this. He couldn't lose him. 

Softly, Dean curled his hands up and into Castiel's hair, nuzzling in against his neck. Maybe he couldn't sleep, but he could rest. After everything they'd just been though, Dean could use the mental break. And feeling Cas so close, so intimately... Dean didn't want that to ever end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for sticking with us! Vanilla and I have been watching the hits start to reach numbers that resemble years. It's been quite amusing. We've passed the moon landing!!! Maybe in another century or two Dean will actually get laid! Butt seriously.... we love you all.
> 
> Next week is Sam and Crowley! Whiiiich we're writing right now! We've used up all our stock ;;;n;;; so we'll definitely be sticking to one chapter a week. "Bah blah blah work schedules blah busy" ~ Vanilla's contributions. ("Um, I said BLAH BLAH BLAH busy! Definitely a distinction...between those two.....")
> 
> You have our everlasting love. The love of a thousand Mooseleys burning bright (and HOT) in the eternal furnace of Hell.


	16. Sam and Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Castiel's appearance, Sam and Crowley get a lot out in the open.

Sam stood in front of Crowley, buck naked except for Crowley's too-short-for-him coat buttoned awkwardly over his length, bare chest exposed, neck blotched on both sides with bites and bruises, claw marks down the back of his thighs and, for some god forsaken reason, the First Blade in his hand. Sam swallowed dangerously in the wake of Castiel's appearance, staring at Crowley accusingly. And not because Crowley's cum was presently seeping from his ass where he stood. Or because the library wall was chipped and there was a broken lighting fixture on the table.

Sam uttered a single question, "What. Is Castiel undoing?" He breathed. Whether or not Crowley did something to Dean to bring him back was no longer a question in Sam's mind. If Castiel said Crowley had done something, Crowley had done something. Having the First Blade in Sam's hand was proof. He gripped it tight.

Crowley's eyes flipped from the blade, his gaze moving directly to Sam's eyes. His newly retrieved smug smile had not faded. "That silly little angel could be undoing a disorganized poker bet for your brother for all I know." He shrugged. "As far as personality goes, lately I'm not too certain which one of you Winchesters is the... wilder one." Slowly, he raised a brow, suggestion in his glance.

Sam looked mutinous, "What did you do to my brother?" He roared. But his tone was more than mutinous - it was hurt.

Sam was transparent in that moment. And as Crowley read his mix of feelings like a book, Crowley felt one ... of his own.

Was that... care?

"Sam," he began. But quickly he hesitated. He didn't know what to say -- No, no, that wasn't true. Of course he knew what to say. "I did nothing to your brother but help assure he continues to walk around to this day. Now, can't we get past the words of a delusional angel and discuss mutual interest here?" He stepped in, closing the distance between them. "The blade, Sam."

Sam stepped back like a reflex, holding the blade away from Crowley, "You're delusional if you think I'm giving you this." He breathed. In fact, he moved away from Crowley altogether. He'd never been so angry with himself, so ashamed... "I'm locking this up until I can find a way to destroy it." He said, picking up his tattered clothing piece by piece, "In the meantime, I'm going to Rosemont to help Cas get my brother." He took a difficult breath, "I don't need any more of your tricks and lies."

"Sam," Crowley interrupted again-- or at least tried to. It was hard hearing what Sam had to say. Somehow. "Please... no need to be rash here. I said mutual interest, and I mean it." Again, he stepped closer, not letting Sam escape. "You want the blade gone, I want the blade gone... And Dean," he shrugged: "So long as the blade isn't within a hundred feet of him, I don't mind the second Winchester getting back on board. Really."

"Oh. Right. You only want what's best for him." Sam bit back, forgetting all about his second ruined pair of good jeans, "You're the cause of all this!" He yelled, "You used my brother to get the Mark of Cain and the First Blade and now you're using him for something else!" Sam leaned in dangerously, "Well you're not using either of us, anymore." He glared at him, somehow looking even more broken than when he thought Dean was dead, "Get out of my way." He muttered.

"Sam," Crowley asserted, stepping into Sam's way and holding his ground. He chose to ignore the dim voice in his head which asked why repairing this was so important to him. "I'm not using him for anything. Admittedly, maybe I was keeping my options open at first. What would I be if I didn't? But now ... I realize there's nothing I want from your brother. But you, Sam--"

What.

"... There's plenty I want from you, Sam." Crowley traded in his mental questions for a sidelong grin.

Sam stared him down, overwhelmed with his own thoughts, "Well that's too bad." He took a deep breath, "Because you're still you... and I'm still a Winchester." He repeated, eyes glaring with meaning, "So you'll just have to get another human to satisfy your bloodlust." He glared, "Now get out... of my way." He gripped the blade tight, the smallest of tremors in his voice.

"You may be a Winchester, but I haven't seen that mattering at all for the past few days." Crowley insisted, completely ignoring Sam's command. "On top of that, I'm offering you my help for free. That offer doesn't come but once every three hundred years..." His smile dropped. "... Take it. After that blade is locked up nice and tight, let me help to reunite the great Winchesters."

Sam blinked. Crowley had to be lying. But why? Sam was missing something. But what?

Sam had to turn away. He couldn't think. He'd be a fool to let Crowley within a hundred feet of Dean without knowing what sort of game he had played to bring him back. But normally, being a fool wasn't so enticing.

Then again...

Crowley already knew where Dean was - going there with Sam would give Sam more control over the situation. Especially with Crowley hooked on Sam's blood. God, why did that make Sam feel so good? He couldn't at Crowley. He didn't know what to do.

"I see that you're having some trouble deciding. 'What game is Crowley playing this time? What does he have to gain?' " Crowley began anew, his tone cool and careful. "I can see why you might have questions, Sam. But I assure you," his voice lowered in volume, the gravel in his tone becoming only more discernible. A subtle, disarming growl. "... There's nothing I have to gain from this but the comfort of two very powerful players. And their comfort..." His brows raised. "... It's my comfort, too."

Sam chanced a glance at him. But that growl kept him there. Sam looked... tired. He missed his brother. So, unable to think a plan that felt any better than the one Crowley was providing...  
He took it.

"Okay." He rasped. He cleared his throat, looking around the disheveled library... for what he wasn't sure. He grabbed the rest of his clothes, looking anywhere but at Crowley, just praying he was doing the right thing. "Wait... wait here." He said, before giving Crowley one last sidelong glance, then heading out of the library.

Crowley maintained a neutral look while Sam responded. It was only when Sam had disappeared that his neutrality dropped, and his smile returned, a pleased hum moving through him. Why it pleased him to know that Sam was on his side again he wasn't going to admit out loud, but he had his suspicions. And in that glowing, post-coital moment, it wasn't a bad realization.

He'd just told Sam the truth. A slightly skewed version of the truth, but the truth no less. It did bring him pleasure to know that a particular Winchester was comfortable. And for once, he'd be pursuing that as opposed to his original intentions. Would it continue? Crowley wasn't sure. But he liked Sam's blood in him. He liked the days-later after effects.

He enjoyed feeling again.

In a nearly reckless decision, he stood there, waiting for Sam to return ... so he could help the Winchesters. Plus.. a happy Sam meant more blood. Hm.

It took Sam several minutes to return, but once he did, the First Blade was gone and he was in a fresh change of clothes: a black collared jacket, blue T-shirt, dark jeans and black boots. "Ready?" He glanced at him, adjusting a duffel bag over his shoulder.

Crowley eyed Sam as he returned, doing nothing to hide the smile in his tone. "Mmm... Be still my not-so-beating heart..."

Sam rolled his eyes "C'mon." He huffed, "We're taking the car. I'm not getting stranded in a Supernatural convention." He eyed him suspiciously. Although, in that same moment, his boot knocked into something forgotten on the floor. Something purple.

...

Castiel must've kicked it out from under the table when he crossed the room earlier. Sam cleared his throat.

Crowley saw it. His eyes glanced back up to Sam with that same, self-assured smile, narrowing with interest. "You're welcome to keep it."

Sam's eyes flashed from Crowley back to the... gift. He cleared his throat again, then picked it up off of the floor... and stowed in a filing drawer in the library, "I'll deal with that later..." He mumbled (no one went through those things besides Sam, anyway) and walked straight past Crowley towards the garages, "Let's go." His voice rang back hurriedly.

Only when Sam stepped around the next corner, Crowley was there in front of him. And before Sam could react, Crowley was backing him right into a wall. "Oh, no..." Crowley asserted, slamming Sam's back against its hard surface. Sam's expression was near feral. "You've almost left without something of essential importance." And very suddenly, Sam's pants and undergarments were dropping on their own to his knees, and his expression fell to something more like fear. Because, for a flash of a moment, as Crowley's hand was slipping something metal and unforgiving over him, Sam felt more vulnerable with Crowley than he ever had before, and it left such a strong taste in his mouth that Sam couldn't handle it.

The metal clicked in place. The cage had been returned. "Tsk, tsk, Sam." Crowley hummed pleasantly.

Sam shoved Crowley off, putting a hand over the cage as he somehow managed to pull his pants back up with the other. His hands were shaking. He was back to his indignant self, however, "We don't have time for this!" He tried to get the sound of Crowley humming out of his mind - it made his knees weak, "You're taking this off when we get there." He ordered, walking stiffly to the garage, looking more than ruffled.

As Sam turned his back and walked away, Crowley tore his eyes off of his ass for a moment... and his smile dropped. Somehow, he was hoping that Sam would be feeling a little more playful. Of course he wasn't. But still, it was a little... disappointing. No. Concerning. That was the word. Crowley hadn't felt that in quite some time. He'd nearly forgotten the true meaning of the word. He shut his eyes quickly, steadying himself. The blood was changing him. "... Right," he said tightly, not quite finding the will to prod Sam further. But of course that cage wasn't coming off. Not unless Crowley wanted it off. Sam would be back to earning that soon enough.

Crowley hoped.

He followed Sam out to the garage, staying otherwise silent.

Sam really wished he'd been able to take a shower. Sitting down in the driver's seat was... an experience. If he was in a better mood, he might've noticed the cage getting a little more snug at the realization that he'd be filled with the King of Hell's seed for the duration of the car ride. But he was still... what was he? Upset? No. Of course not. He put Rosemont, IL into his Mustang's GPS as he waited silently for Crowley get situated. The car was newer and sportier than the Impala - a sleek, gunmetal grey model.

The door slammed as Crowley rocked back in the passenger's seat. He was silent for several moments. Finally: "... Are we leaving?" Sam wasn't being very fun at all, so Crowley wouldn't be either.

Sam glanced over at him, took a deep breath, then shifted into gear. They pulled out of the bunker and onto the dirt path, Sam shifting subtly in his seat a few times as they headed towards the main road.

Crowley's eyes returned to Sam... His brow raised. "... Planning to visit your brother all... soiled and dirty?" He observed, not bothering to hide his own subtle strain of pride.

Sam sighed silently, glaring at the road ahead, "I've already wasted enough time this morning." He turned onto the main road, trying to ignore how soiled and dirty he actually felt. He shifted again, while Crowley enjoyed the show, but then Sam cast an accidental glance at Crowley, locking eyes with him for a moment. Crowley's look was an intense one.

Sam repositioned himself altogether, leaned back, and stared ahead at the long stretch of Kansas road. Crowley's gaze mirroring his, linking his hands together behind his head. "So now we're living with the consequences... is that right?"

Sam's lips twitched, "Do me a favor." He muttered, "Spare me the commentary..."

Somehow, that sounded a little more like Sam. Crowley relaxed. "Aw... Samantha," he looked at him. "You can really be no fun sometimes. Mm... But other times..." He closed his eyes, smiling wickedly. "... you leave a taste in the mouth that is entirely ...edible."

Sam shifted again in his seat... "Shut it." He huffed back.

Crowley chuckled. "Hmm... Feisty." He sighed, clasping his hands in his lap. "If it will bring you pleasure, love."

Sam rolled his eyes. Since when did Crowley do something for Sam's pleasure alone? Sam decided not to think about it. His accidental glances at Crowley lingered a little longer, however, and shortly after, he began wishing he had his brother's tapes in the car to distract him. The Mustang didn't have a cassette player at all. Sam fidgeted a little, then turned on the radio.

Crowley let his eyes wander over Sam's expression, noting the fidgeting. Noting that it wasn't necessarily a bad sort of fidgeting. In fact, maybe Sam was even going to like this ride... Crowley certainly was. Alone with Sam for hours, free to subtly manipulate him and drive unconscious ideas into his head... This would be fun.

\---

Crowley was wrong. Crowley was very wrong.

He sat with his head on his hand, expression limp and bored as he stared out the window... And watched the fiftieth bloody cornfield in a row pass by.

He'd planned to wait. He was going to be patient and bide the dispersal of his ideas throughout the hours, but Sam wasn't being fun, and Crowley hadn't taken an honest to Hell road trip in... ever. The things he'd experienced were numerous, exciting, exotic and enticing, but the open road was a concept introduced after his time as a human, and zipping around crossroad to crossroad by pact of lost humans had been his international travel prior to his promotion to kingly status. Besides occasionally sitting through a thirty minute car ride for show, or a backseat minutes-long conversation with Winchesters, he'd never really moved by car. Especially non-stop. Waiting. And waiting. And watching corn. And waiting--he could have been to Rosemont, back, and gallivanted through Paris eight times by now on his own accord. This. Was Hell. "... Are we there yet?" He groaned heavily into his hand, not taking his flashing eyes away from the disappointingly short field of crops-- the pathetic drone of the radio doing absolutely nothing to hold his interest in the least.

Sam... smirked. "What.. You're telling me the King of Hell can't take a dose of his own punishment?" Sam asked calmly, recalling what exactly Crowley had turned Hell into.

"Believe me," Crowley buzzed, voice just as disinterested-- but with a spike of a growl. "You have given me all the inspiration to open up a new circle. Perhaps immediately following a fifty-years-long wait at the DMV."

Sam actually chuckled at that.

As that laugh lifted above the quiet strains of a hastily-picked rock station, Crowley blinked. He picked his head off of his hand, looking over to Sam. So. Maybe Sam wasn't being entirely not-fun. "... I'll consider that reaction a restructural green light." He mumbled, sporting the smallest of mischievous grins.

A small smile lingered on Sam's lips, looking like he was relaxing in Crowley's company again. But then... a sigh, "I should get gas." His smile faded as a gas station approached up ahead. They'd started with less than a half tank. It had been a while since Sam had used his own car. He shut the radio off, pulling off into the station.

That was enough of a distraction to Crowley to forget about Sam's almost-fun-ness entirely. For the moment. "Oh, thank me..." He muttered absently, dipping forward in his seat to better observe their change of scenery. "I've never wanted to smell the inside of a cruddy highway kwik-e-mart so badly before in my entire existence. What have you done to me, Sam Winchester?"

Sam wasn't sure what had gotten into Crowley (maybe it was the boredom) but... he kind of liked it. Sam shook his head, fighting off a smile as he shut the car off, "Yeah, well, you'll have to wait a few more minutes." He eyed Crowley in near amusement, "I gotta fill up the car first." And with that, he popped the gas cap and stepped out of the car.

Only, it wasn't just Sam who was stepping out. The passenger door clacked and slammed behind Crowley as he straightened up and out of the car. "Oh... Sam," Crowley buzzed, closing his eyes as he stretched his back and angled his chin up to the sky. "Waiting... is not a punishment I plan to willfully endure one moment more." He looked to Sam over the roof of the car as he approached the pump. "Would you like a lukewarm chili dog? Pretzels? Perhaps I can interest you in some Corn Nuts?" He settled his hands in his suit jacket. "My treat."

Sam clicked the nozzle into the tank, "Nah, I'm good." He said, looking around at the open land. They were still in Kansas, still had a long way to go before they got to Dean.

Crowley let his head fall back down to its normal level, his brows bouncing up in understanding. "... If you say so, darling." And without another moment of that dreadful waiting, Crowley was turning his back, overcoat fanning out behind him as he made for the door of the small gas station store.

Sam found his gaze settling on the gas station. And then, on Crowley. Crowley's backside... Sam's brows came together self-critically and he looked away. Of course, he could still feel the metal in his pants, not to mention the wet spot that had accumulated from having Crowley's... essence... in his ass.  
Not soon enough, the nozzle clicked and Sam removed it.

As soon as Sam had turned back around from hanging the nozzle back on the pump, Crowley was sitting back in the passenger seat of the car. With a pale, blended, and pineapple adorned drink in his hand. "Do we have to get back on the road so soon, Samantha?" He muttered, sighing. "There's a lovely little bar just down the road I'm sure you'd love... with a few beers in your hands."  
Sam did a double take getting back in the car, "Where did you get that?"

Crowley looked to his drink. He looked back up at Sam. "Just down the road," he answered, pointing ahead of them. "... in Rosemont." He raised his brow, a sarcastic look in his eye.  
Sam's expression fell, his brow twitching. He turned the car on stubbornly, "This isn't a vacation." He shifted into drive, "I don't need 'a few beers'."

"I know. Of course it isn't," Crowley answered coolly. "But my only real question is... why don't you just let me blink you and I right into Rosemont. None of this... road trip business. I understand there's an allure to the open road, but I certainly don't see it." He paused, finding a moment to sip contemplatively at his drink. Then: "And, of course, I do understand your control issues at the moment-- Sam needs a car, Sam needs an escape-- But really. Sam," he raised a brow. "Don't you think that the hours you'll save, the ability to get to your brother's side immediately... don't you think that's worth the sacrifice?"

Sam stared out the front window, the engine running silently. Crowley had a point. But... "Cas is with him. He'll be fine until I get there." Sam said, finally putting his hands on the wheel and pulling away from the pump, "I have to bring him home." He said, "I don't... I don't care what's going on with him, or what you did you to him. But he's coming home with me. No matter what." Sam looked at Crowley, a rare note of intimacy in his expression, "What good will I be if I get stranded out there?" His gaze lingered on Crowley a moment longer before looking back to the road, looking, for the first time, like he wanted to trust Crowley. But he couldn't. He wouldn't let himself. He'd made enough mistakes already. Sam was Dean's brother, he was supposed to protect him. He should've been on the road days ago.

Crowley's gaze remained on Sam even as Sam's own eyes wandered elsewhere. Crowley could see his thoughts going. And more than that... he'd seen it. He'd seen that look.

Crowley sipped at his drink.

Then, carefully, he settled the glass in the cup holder. "... Sam," he said calmly, turning towards him. "Stop the car."

Sam glanced over at Crowley in confusion. He wasn't sure what it was about Crowley's voice that made him do it, but he slowed down, pulling off onto the side of the road before he even realized it, "What? What is it?" He looked from the empty stretch of farmland surrounding them to Crowley, looking like Crowley had to be crazy to make them stop.

Crowley didn't skip a beat. "Sam, let's make a deal." He twisted coolly in his seat so he could stare at the Winchester brother. "I'll blink us to Rosemont, I'll help you find your brother, and I won't leave the two of you stranded and looking for a Class-C hitchhike. I'll bring the two of you right back to your bunker. Home sweet home." He hummed. "Oh. And my end... let's see... We'll make it doable but desirable, something to let you know I mean business... Oh. Yes, of course," he smiled, nearly chuckling. "Blood."

Sam stared at Crowley, as if replaying everything he'd just said in his head. But most of all... the blood. Sam still had the upper hand. But the closer he got to his brother, the less ideal that situation really seemed. Still, it was too late to back out now. Maybe Crowley would be more trustworthy if he had more human blood in him. Yeah. Trustworthy. That's what Sam wanted out of this. Right? Fuck. He didn't have time to analyze this. Was he really going to do it?

"Alright." He said finally, putting the car in park. He rested his forearm on the gear shift daringly, "Take it." He looked at him, giving him permission to come closer.

Crowley actually paused. His eyes flicked down to Sam's arm, a need coursing out of him from nowhere. It had been too long. He'd forgone the blood for long enough. Slowly, he settled his fingertips down on Sam's arm, tracing a vein through his skin as he considered. It was right there...

But, then again... he was about to be surrounded by Winchesters. Perhaps sobriety was his best option.

"... Not that I'm judging the way you do business, Sam, but... shouldn't you wait to hand over your end of the deal until you have what you want?"

Sam was taken aback by Crowley's question. But he didn't move his arm, "Why do you care?" He asked.

Crowley's brows raised. "I'm sensing hostility, Sam." He muttered in response. "Doing deals in the proper way is very important to me."

Sam sighed. He turned his head away, looking like he needed a moment, and when he returned, he wasn't angry. He just seemed... conflicted, "Fine. Just... take it now." He flexed his hand idly. His voice was soft. Why was he doing this? "I'll wait with you while you come down." He said, although he couldn't look Crowley in eye when he said it, "Then we can go."

Again, silence passed between them. The road wasn't populated, so there wasn't even the swooping sounds of passing vehicles. Just wind rustling through corn. "... You'll wait?" Crowley repeated, testing Sam's statement. His eyes settled on Sam, their gazes locking in place. Crowley wanted to see his eyes when he said it. Somehow even the offer itself seemed...

Crowley wasn't sure how to think about it.

Sam swallowed, "Yeah." He tried to play it off, but he couldn't. He was serious. His eyes finally settled on Crowley, "I'll wait." He said. Then, as if to prove it, he turned the engine off, his gaze returning to Crowley.

Somehow, hearing the roar of the engine rattle down into nothing... that was both convincing and a turn on all at once.

In the next moment, Crowley was reaching into his pocket, his fingers clamping down on Sam's arm. When his hand returned, it held in its grip an empty syringe. Its cool metal tip was dragging lightly against his skin in the next moment, and in the one after that, Crowley's gaze traveled up to capture Sam's again, the needle poised and ready. His look didn't waver. Suddenly, the needle bit into his skin, and Crowley held back a hiss as warm, living crimson filled its empty tube.

Sam's hiss, however, was audible. He bit his lip, not sure why it hurt this time. His free hand had jumped reflexively to Crowley's arm - not to stop him, just to steady himself. And it worked. He swallowed the pain calmly, and despite his eyes slightly tearing up, he looked back up at Crowley readily.

The extraction of the blood was slow. Crowley held Sam's gaze, feeling the plunger side higher and higher as the needle filled. Finally, it was done. Crowley removed it, wiping away Sam's wound like a smudge on a window. Immediately, he made to begin readying himself, but Sam's hand-- the one that held him, steadying him-- it stopped him. With a moment of consideration, Crowley traced his fingers down that arm of Sam's, pressing the warm, glass tube of blood into his grip. Then Crowley's suit jacket was coming off. He folded it, setting it on the dashboard, and he rolled up his sleeve to his elbow slowly, almost ritualistically. His fist clenched and his flesh bare, he held his arm out... to Sam. "...Then... would you like to do the honours?"

Sam blinked at Crowley, still recovering slightly, but he heard the question loud and clear. And without even thinking, his mind was saying no. But for some reason, it wasn't saying it very loud... Sam felt the tube in his hand, filled with his blood, he saw Crowley exposed for him, in his car, and then, some emotion overrode that voice in his head. Sam leaned over the gear shift, setting a hand on Crowley's wrist to hold it steady. His eyes traced up Crowley's arm, following the veins, before he realized he was feeling another warmth aside from his own blood. It was Crowley's skin. Sam wasn't sure he'd ever actually touched the Crowley before. But, he felt... human. Warm. Sam met Crowley's eyes, and if giving him a chance to change his mind before Sam pinched the needle in, drawing a hand up Crowley's arm, up the vein.

Even though, despite being entirely sober, Crowley felt different in that moment, his gaze didn't falter. Nor did his sense of humor. "... Should I beg for it, Samantha?" He cooed ironically. Although... maybe it wasn't entirely a joke.

Sam's eyes flashed. Although it wasn't because of the name. Sam ignored the question, taking it as a 'Yes, Sam. Proceed.', but only because if he thought about it too much, he wouldn't have the concentration to do this. Crowley begging him... that made Sam feel... uncoordinated, "You can beg for me later." He cooed back. And without another moment's hesitation, the needle pressed against Crowley's skin, and bit into the vein.

Sam depressed the plunger slowly, the hand on Crowley's arm gently smoothing down his skin, rubbing it as Sam filled him with human blood. His blood.

Crowley didn't react. He merely stared into Sam's gaze as their blood mixed, his breathing becoming deeper and his pupils dilating.

Sam's eyes moved back up Crowley. "Halfway there." He encouraged him.

As those words left Sam's mouth, Crowley was adding his own sounds into the air. "Mm... ahh..." He breathed, rocking his head back, his eyes fluttering shut with a hiss. For a flash of a moment, he'd wanted to make a witty comment. But when his lips moved to sputter words, all he managed was a deep, throaty, "Yesss..." He flexed his fist.

Sam held back a smile, "That's it.." He cooed for real that time, letting his eyes rest on Crowley's face while his hand felt further down, massaging the palm of Crowley's hand, "Almost there." He whispered, injecting the last few drops of his blood.

As Sam's hand found Crowley's, his hisses subsided. Instead, somewhere between tense and utterly relaxed, Crowley couldn't quite control the workings of his hand. And as the antidote of human blood mixed in with the poison of his unholy veins, his head muddled. Instinctively, his hand clasped around Sam's, squeezing their fingers together tightly while a satisfying, shudder of a breath shook through his bones. His grip was tight, the sensation stronger than usual.

Sam's hand clenched back. At first it was just a reflex, but he didn't stop. Finally, the tube was empty, and Sam was drawing the needle back out, eyes fixated on Crowley, realizing his own breath had picked up... Once the needle was out, he set the syringe down, somewhere, and leaned over Crowley. Gently, he began to roll Crowley's sleeve back down with one hand.

But after just one roll, Crowley's hand snapped up, grabbing Sam's forearm and holding it in place with a strength that was inhuman. His breathing was hard, his eyes opened wide as he stared at Sam with an uncomfortable, dark intensity, his pinprick wound healed and gone in the few, frozen moments that slipped by.

Without warning, Crowley's free hand jumped behind Sam's head, yanking him into him, closing the distance between them in less than a second for a hard, nearly desperate kiss.

Sam fell into the gear shift (luckily the car was off ), but in the next few seconds, he was climbing over it, into the passenger seat and onto Crowley, kissing him back deeply. It was like a fire had been lit beneath him. He couldn't help himself. One hand gripped into the folds of Crowley's suit, his other still unmoved from Crowley's hand, as he took long, warm kisses from Crowley's mouth.

Crowley's body moved seamlessly together with Sam's. His arm slipped to Sam's side, then his back. And when he was seated atop him, their kiss blazing and hot, Crowley's hand slipped lower, feeling over Sam's ass. Then, with a start, he groped him, rocking his hips over Crowley's lap and pulling him closer as he nipped into his lip hard, tugging down on his hair.

A small, breathy moan escaped Sam. But, for some reason, when Crowley groped and nipped and pulled him, his kisses slowed down, leaning his hips into Crowley purposefully, "Relax." He breathed, his voice labored with heat. And as he said it, he leaned his whole body into Crowley, rocking him back against the seat as he dipped his tongue into Crowley's mouth, savoring the taste. Seeing Crowley like that, doing that to him... a part of Sam felt guilty. But another part felt a whole new emotion take over, one that made him want to just lay Crowley down and... devour him.

If it had been any other time, with any small amount more sobriety, Crowley would have reacted very differently. However, he was very drugged on a healthy amount of purifying, but emotion-weighted, human blood. So his reaction was practically out of character. Namely... he listened. He growled in mild defiance, the gravely rumble rattling against Sam's lips as his nips stopped and the desperation faded. And he relaxed. The pace slowed, Crowley's grip in Sam's hair loosened. He simply ran his fingers through it absently, his lips parting as he allowed Sam's tongue into his mouth. And at the feeling, Crowley's sharp growls transformed into a low purr, rumbling against him as he let him explore.

When Crowley listened, actually... listened, Sam's eyes flashed again. His chest swelled in surprise and arousal, almost freezing up as he realized what was going on. And then, feeling those lips part and that purr in Sam's mouth, Sam felt that fire beneath him consume him.

Sam's hand left the front of Crowley's suit, and in the next second, the seat was tilting back a few inches, and Sam was dipping hotly into Crowley's mouth. His whole body moved against him, rolling his hips (and his cage) into Crowley's, slowly but heavily, a smoldering desire pulsing through him. Crowley was letting him do this. And Sam... Sam knew how to do this.

Sam's lips pulled back, pressing a palm against Crowley's chest, his other still squeezing Crowley's hand, as he dipped down and opened a kiss to the lobe of Crowley's ear. He tugged and sucked on it, letting Crowley hear every moment before, "Crowley..." He purred, nuzzling him hotly, "I need you to take the cage off." His hand slid down Crowley's chest, taking Crowley's free hand and putting it over Sam's clothed, cage length. He rolled his hips into his palm, taking him back into a deep, searching kiss.

It was his turn to take over. That in itself made Sam's head spin, but in another way, it made him feel light. Like... he needed this.

And Crowley... went with it. As Sam's lips left his and traveled instead to his ear, he sank back in the seat, closing his eyes. He hummed quietly, enjoying the feeling. And as his hand was set over the hard metal of Sam's cage, he squeezed, causing a purr to rumble deep in Sam's throat.

Even as their kiss resumed, Crowley's hand continued its groping. Sam rolled into Crowley purposefully, enjoying it, and soon, it was more than that. Crowley was unfastening Sam's pants and slipping his hand down the front of them, kissing back with interest. As his lips brushed and pressed against Sam's, his fingers slipped against the smooth flat of his hips. Then the hot metal of the cage, then... the lock. He brushed his fingertip over it, and it clicked open. With a sudden, hard nip, Crowley was gripping the warm metal of its cock ring base. But Sam held him there, nipping back warmly, possessively as Crowley slowly worked the cage off of him, gripping tight around the warm metal and his hot skin, even as he slipped over his sensitive head. Sam rumbled a pleased moan against Crowley's lips. And then, the cage was on the car floor, and Crowley's hand was right back down the front of Sam's pants, tugging at his excitement almost experimentally.

Sam's moan turned into a sigh. He didn't stop him. Instead, he rolled his hips into it, letting Crowley feel him get harder and harder with every tug, until finally, he was ready.

Sam pulled back, sitting up with his head bent under the sun roof and began taking his belt off, lips parted, eyes burning strongly into Crowley's. With a clink, it joined the cage on the floor of the car, and then Sam was undoing his pants. He tugged them down, along with his boxers - slightly wet now from Crowley's cum, exposing his excited length to the heated air. If they were anywhere else in the country, Sam wouldn't have even considered doing this on the side of the highway, but on a long stretch of Kansas road, it wasn't even a thought. Not a car had passed since they left the gas station, and Sam... well, Sam wasn't thinking about cars anyway. With a satisfying clink, Sam was taking Crowley's belt off, too...

Some sort of demonic muscle memory must have clicked in Crowley's head when Sam touched his belt. His hand zipped right to it. Crowley gripped over Sam's hand, finding his gaze immediately. He held it with his own, pupils large, breathing hard, and a low, rumbling growl in his throat, and Sam met that gaze quickly.

Finally, after a seconds-long stalemate... Crowley's hand began to relax. Sam's breath picked up in anticipation Crowley guided Sam's fingers over his buckle, controlling them himself as the belt clicked open and his zipper lowered, and Sam followed, knowing where it was going.

His pants undone, Crowley stared. He panted at Sam with a dangerous look in his eye and a snarl on his lips. Like a newly caged lion. Slowly, he had enough awareness to lead Sam's hand under the elastic band of his silk boxers, and with his fingers working over his, he forced Sam to squeeze him, his arousal impressive.

Sam squeezed him hotly, realizing it was the first time he'd ever felt... him. The other King of Hell. In fact... that was the first dick he'd ever felt.  
Who needed college?

Once Sam got his hand around Crowley's length, his eyes focused heatedly. He stroked down to his base, then back up... all the way up... all... the way... Sam swallowed, trying not to think about the fact that, somehow, all of it fit inside of him.

Crowley's eyes relaxed shut, his hands slowly pulling away, settling on Sam's hips. He held them there, relaxing back in the seat as he pushed his hips forward, encouraging Sam to continue, moving his hips along with his strokes.

Sam pulled up over Crowley's length firmly, feeling over him again and again, until the sensation led his other hand to his own length, rubbing them both at the same time. Sam sighed in satisfaction, "Crowley... tell me... you want my ass." He told him, his voice dark, raw, watching him hungrily.

Crowley's brow lowered, a low growl raising up in his throat. "I want it," he growled, quickly slipping one of his hands up Sam's side, up to his hair. "I want... your ass, Sam." His fingers wound up in his hair, tugging down harshly as his eyes opened again.

Sam bent over, stealing a heated kiss off Crowley's lips. But his hand had disappeared off Crowley's body. With the sound of denim shifting, Sam was pulling his pants down further. And then, he was pushing Crowley back against the seat, rough, "I wanna hear it..." He pulled back, sitting up and over Crowley's length, "I wanna hear it all the time." He husked darkly, a hand gripping Crowley's length once again. Crowley didn't respond. He barely moved, in fact, watching Sam with curiosity and arousal, pulsing his grip in his hair as he spoke. But Sam's hand didn't move, either. Sam's arousal standing proud, a fire his in eyes, he sat up on his knees, looking Crowley over. But it was more than fiery want. There was a need there, a desire that had everything to do with Crowley, and Crowley alone, in this moment.

And with a heavy breath, he positioned Crowley at his entrance, and sank down.

They groaned in unison, Sam not tearing his off Crowley as he slowly impaled himself on that impressive length. He didn't need to stretch, he didn't need lube, he'd just had Crowley's cock in him not two hours ago; the cum was still warm... Sam was suddenly very glad he hadn't been able to shower. It was the most intoxicating lubricant he'd ever used.

"Ah... Sam," Crowley breathed, tugging down on his hair and grasping his hip as he let the sensation move over him. He waited until Sam had nearly seated himself upon him entirely... but he couldn't wait anymore. He slammed his hips up into Sam's, their skin slapping together loudly as another hiss met the air. Sam's head tipped back and he moaned breathily.

Crowley's eyes were intense. "You're... so good, Sam..." He groaned, slurring his words slightly. "You're still so... good..."

When Sam's eyes returned, they were flooded with intimacy, body stretching out on Crowley's lap. It felt so good, "Mm... you, too." He panted softly. And then, he was rocking back out, slow, working his hips as he sat up almost all the way... then sank back down with a purr.

Crowley met Sam with a similar sound, hissing and humming as Sam sank back down atop him. He was so deep. Sam pressed hard onto Crowley, so no spot went unfilled, breathing in satisfaction. Crowley took the opportunity in that moment to slip his hand up and under Sam's shirt, feeling the musculature there, his warm skin, slipping the shirt up with his touches. His eyes flashed. "... Shirt off," Crowley commanded, his voice low and breathy, but his eyes steel.

Sam wasn't going to complain. He slipped his jacket off, losing it somewhere in the car, then pulled his shirt off over his head, tossing it aside. The minute that shirt was gone, Sam reared up, and rolled his hips into Crowley's lap, stirring Crowley in him deeply.

"Mmm..." Crowley hummed, slipping his hands up over Sam's sculpted stomach yet again as he slammed his hips up into Sam's, meeting his. And Crowley continued his motions as best he could, changing the angle of his hips and rocking up into Sam, encouraging him to... "Keep going..." He muttered, one of his hands sneaking up to his tanned chest, twisting a nipple there.

Sam hummed in arousal, rolling his hips more and more with that encouragement, until he found a pace that made his body ring and he just slid onto Crowley over and over again, "Ah... yeah..." He groaned, body tensing in pleasure.

"Sam..." Crowley groaned, his voice saturated with heat and arousal, breaths coming from him harder in no time. He clasped hard onto Sam's hip, driving himself into him, meeting Sam's bounces with those of his own, over and over. "More, Sam..." He grumbled, his grip getting tighter. "More..."

Sam didn't need to be told. His pace grew harder, rougher, rocking his hips with every thrust, "Ah...you like that?" He breathed, sitting up and gripping the sun roof for even more leverage.

Crowley didn't respond in words, but the long, pleasured sound he made was sure an indication. Yes. He liked it. His eyes raked in Sam's form. Even crumpled and practically squished against the roof of the car as he was, he sure was something to look at. And that was the clearest thought Crowley was capable of in that moment, strung out as he was.

However... he wanted more.

Before Sam could get comfortable with his sun roof grip, Crowley was tightening his own grip on Sam's hip, his other hand slipping up to his shoulder. Then, with a rough motion, he was slamming Sam down into the dashboard, stretching him out over the glove box and as he heaved his legs up into the air. With increased will, he slapped his hips into Sam's time and time again, hard, fast, and with all the needy, demonic vigor he had.

That took Sam by surprise. But the pleasure that ensued had him opening up and groaning, hard, "F...fuck, yeah...!" He heaved, finding leverage with his boot on the door, the other on the headrest. He grabbed the front of Crowley's shirt and pulled him closer, working his hips into the motion, "Yeah..fuck me. Hard!"

Crowley bent in close at the forceful suggestion of Sam's. "Mmm... Yeah," he hissed, only increasing his pace. The car was rocking heavily with their motions, and Crowley was slapping into Sam's ass with each one. He ducked down lower, capturing Sam in a long, searing kiss, groaning against his lips as he leaned his weight into him a little more, opening his thighs wider.

Sam groaned into the kiss, body tightening all over. He clawed at Crowley's shirt, nearly fighting with him for more, until he got into a good fit and felt Crowley slide right into that spot in him. Sam's whole body undulated against the dashboard, finding the perfect hold on Crowley to rock his hips right back, sheathing Crowley in him hard and fast, "Yeah...yeah... right there..." He growled affectionately, kissing Crowley with rough nips and pulls, "That's it..." His voice was getting higher, breathier.

"Mmm...!" Crowley growled forcefully, slamming right into Sam in that new spot, taking over the kiss and biting Sam's lip as he did so. Then he did it again and again, slamming into him each time. Soon, his lips were smacking away and his breath was hot and hard on Sam's neck, nipping him, biting into his colorful hickeys and rejuvenating them with each powerful thrust and bite. The dashboard cracked and complained as Crowley bent Sam over it with each motion, one of his hands slipping over the naked curve of his back.

Sam tipped his head back and moaned, opening himself up and spreading his legs even more, until all the sensations started bubbling up from the inside, "Fuck..fuck...keep going..!" He panted hard, mindlessly pulling Crowley closer, until there was hardly any space between them at all. Sam's arm wrapped around Crowley's upper back as Crowley abused Sam's neck, his ass sliding against Crowley's hips and the dashboard alternatively, his length rubbing up against Crowley's stomach.

Following Sam's suggestion was easy, seeing as Crowley had every intention to keep going and going (as much as he could think to intend anything purposefully at all). His hands slipped over Sam's hips to his thighs, gripping them hard. He held them apart, insuring that Sam would keep himself as gloriously spread as he was. Crowley leaned down into his body, thumping his hips against Sam's with renewed, forceful vigor. He bent his head down, trailing his bites further down Sam's chest, giving a hard nip to a sensitive bud on Sam's chest, and he linked it with an especially hard thrust.

Sam growled in arousal, clawing Crowley's back, "Shit..mm!" A groan, back arching into Crowley with every thrust and nip, "C..Crowley... mng... want you to come..." His growls turned dark, rough, body squeezing around Crowley. He was close... "...Come in my ass..." He panted, reaffirming his grip on Crowley's shirt and tugging him up into a hard, searching kiss. The 'lube' was starting to dry out, but Sam didn't care. It was still slick. He didn't think about it... couldn't. Crowley was fucking out every thought as it entered his brain, leaving only the basic ones telling him that Crowley was his. This was his. The pain, the pleasure, all of it. And it just made Sam want to ride Crowley harder. So he did, fucking Crowley right back.

The way Sam said that, Crowley didn't need to think to realize just how hot it was. Instinctively, his bucks became harder, meeting Sam's, slamming Sam's hips into his with rough pulls as his own thrusts dove into him, deep into him with a hard jab past that spot inside of him with each one, Sam's encouragements falling from him in rough moans and pants. But with the blood in his system, Sam growling out his arousal and filling his senses in every way... Crowley was getting close himself. "Sam..." He groaned, his pace somehow quickening as his eyes closed, as he pressed his head in against Sam's chest, tensing and squeezing his body as his pounding became near desperate. At the sound, Sam's eyes darkened, gasping and purring hotly. Then... A strong, hot burst erupted inside of him, filling him, followed by several more, each thrust slowing down as the pleasure of Crowley's end shook through his bones and rattled his senses.

Sam's breath hitched in satisfaction, muscles seizing up, "Yes." He purred, "Yes..." He clutched Crowley hard, riding him and rolling into him powerfully, squeezing it out of him as the motions and Crowley's heat dragged him to the edge of his own release. And with a shuddering burst, Sam was coming as well, back arching completely off the dashboard, "Oh...ohh...f...Crowley..." He gaped, the hand at Crowley's shirt finally falling away. But it didn't go to his dick, it joined the other around Crowley, clinging to him hard as he came, seated completely and motionless on Crowley's length.

Crowley felt the mess of a burst against him, the warmth just adding to the pleasure of his own release. And it was soon after that Crowley's motions, his thrusts and pleasured jabs, came to a halt. He simply seated himself inside of Sam, leaning into him, pinning him against the dash as he allowed their pleasure to mingle. The way Sam cooed his name in the heat of sex... there was nothing like it. And Crowley basked in that. In Sam.

Sam's body went still, clinging idly to Crowley at he caught his breath.

Before long, Crowley's muscles were working for him, and he was slipping back into his seat. He held Sam to him tightly, still inside of him, holding them together as he spread Sam out again on his lap. Sam's body moved with Crowley easily, following him down onto his lap. "Sam..." Crowley sighed blissfully, running his hands up his bare back... and pushing Sam's head down to Crowley's lips for a kiss. It was surprisingly soft.

Sam's dark eyes closed, kissing him back languidly, warmly... and suddenly, Sam's whole body was relaxing against Crowley's, laying against him in their shared, post orgasm glow. Even though Sam was quite a bit taller, it was bliss. Even the kiss that they shared. Sam's hands felt up Crowley's chest, then...the sides of his face, holding there gently as his kissed him.

"Mm..." Crowley hummed at the touch softly, nearly imperceptibly. He sucked Sam's lip into his mouth lightly, almost playfully, as he dipped up for another kiss. "Samm..." He buzzed between kisses, his words molten whispers, still tainted by the blood and riding the post orgasm high. Still, when he continued, his voice was almost warm. "... I like this."

Sam could've kissed him like that for hours. Except... what did he just say? Sam's lips paused, feeling Crowley kiss him, feeling his breath on him, the ghost of his words mingling with the warm ringing throughout his body. And then, Sam's own heartbeat in his ear. Crowley liked this? The sex, or... whatever was happening at that moment? What was happening at that moment? What was happening to Sam? Sam opened his mouth to speak, to say something, anything, even though he knew Crowley might not even remember it. For some reason, that made Sam feel even heaver. Hot. Burning... wait. That was something else. That was pain, in his...

Sam gaped away from Crowley's lips, suddenly feeling the undeniable slickness of blood in his ass, mixed with Crowley's cum. Sam shut his eyes tight, taking a sharp breath. He knew how to handle pain. Even if this was one of the most intimate pains he'd ever felt. He'd been through a hundred time worse without anyone to lean on. So why now was he doing literally that -- clutching Crowley, the King of Hell, and breathing hopelessly into his skin... "Crow...Crowley..." He sputtered, finding his eyes amidst the sudden waves of pain, "Heal me... please..." He pleaded softly, not used to it. But... it didn't feel strange, or wrong.

Crowley hummed, slipping his hands down Sam's back and held his hips. Slowly, he rocked back, slipping out of Sam an inch at a time. Despite the pain, Sam kept still for Crowley, and soon, he was out, and Crowley was flipping around, settling Sam back to lay him in the fully reclined chair. Sam watched as he pulled the silk of his boxers back up to his waist and crawled over him, looking down at his nude body. His smile was almost... warm. In no time, he was touching the flat planes of Sam's body again, pulling his hands down his stomach and the thin film of sweat that had accumulated there. Somehow, those touches felt good, soothing. They traveled over his hips, then gently, Crowley was pulling Sam's thighs apart, holding him open to brush the tips of his fingers over the sensitive, injured area. Sam winced, chest heaving gently, but before he knew it, the pain was gone, and Sam was relaxing again in relief. The wounds healed immediately, back to normal... but that didn't stop Crowley from continuing to touch him there, collecting blood and gently teasing his entrance. He never dropped Sam's eyes, smiling playfully at him.

In the wake of the unexpected pain, Sam felt a resurgence of post-coital bliss, not to mention, sensitivity. He couldn't help it... He smiled back, eyes still a little bleary. In that moment, how could Sam not enjoy a playful, sexed up Crowley?

Sam tipped his head back playfully, adjusting himself comfortably in the seat... which may or may not have involved opening himself up suggestively to those touches. Slowly, he felt up Crowley's free arm, watching him warmly, and with a flirty tug, he tipped him down for a kiss, letting Crowley play at his entrance all he wanted. Sam may have even given his thigh a playful rub with his knee in encouragement.

Because Hell, he liked this, too.

Crowley hummed a chuckle into Sam's lips, rearranging himself atop him. And at that rub, he only played with Sam further. He pressed purposefully at Sam's entrance, almost breaching, but not quite. And in the meantime, that kiss was quite amusing. He buzzed into it, nipping playfully at Sam's lip, sucking at it softly. As he did so, his finger brushed away from its spot at Sam's entrance, and moments later, still playing with the kiss, Crowley was sneaking his finger between their lips, lapping a mixture of blood and cum from its side, before pressing the digit, and the rest of its fluids, into Sam's mouth. Crowley still kissed at his lips playfully.

That took Sam by surprise. But, what took him by surprise even more, was how natural it felt sucking all that off Crowley's finger, how Sam's lips didn't miss a beat. He sucked languidly, sneaking a playful kiss or two off Crowley's lips as he went, letting Crowley taste the mixture on Sam's lips and tongue. Even his hand went back up to Crowley's, massaging his palm as he sucked on his fingers.

"Mmmm...." Crowley hummed playfully, twisting his finger a little into Sam's mouth, then removing it. With one more kiss to his lips, he drew the finger out again... then thrust it in another time. Soon, Crowley was kissing down Sam's body again, sucking at a nipple playfully as he thrust his finger into and out of Sam's mouth. Just having fun playing with him.

Sam followed those fingers, sucking on them playfully. He gave a small grunt in surprise when Crowley's lips were on him again, smiling out of his concentration, "Cro..." but Crowley was thrusting his fingers. So Sam grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, breaking away to give Crowley's ear a playful, lingering nip, "I like you like this.." He kissed him there, before going back to his fingers, kissing them each. And without even thinking about it, he was interlacing one of his hands with his, holding it to his lips as he sucked on those fingers, his body stretched out on the seat before him.

Crowley practically purred in response, flexing his fingers in Sam's grip, in his mouth. And without any warning, as Sam continued giving that attention to his digits, Crowley stooped down. He pressed Sam's thighs up and apart, holding him open as he licked a long stripe up over his entrance, through blood and everything else. "... Mmm..." He hummed, "... like what?" Another lick, Crowley lowering more comfortably between Sam's legs to continue lapping up the blood there.

Sam's thighs moved easily at Crowley's touch, parting for him comfortably, but at that lick, Sam shivered. His eyes fluttered closed, sucking on Crowley's index finger a little longer than usual. Shit... Crowley had asked him something. Sam smiled off of Crowley's fingers, resting his free hand on Crowley's shoulder and hanging his leg over the arm rest. Crowley licking up the cum as it seeped out of him was the strangest, and most pleasurable, thing Sam had ever experienced. He should've tried this years ago. With men, he meant. "I don't know." Sam replied honestly, lowering Crowley's hand to Sam's breast as he tried to focus on one thing at a time, "Like how... you can't keep your tongue off me." He smiled genuinely, "That's... well, you're kind of sexy." He complimented him, "Mm... I guess I never noticed." A pleasant sigh, tipping his head back. He was talking about Crowley's tongue. Of course. Sam loved Crowley's tongue, if he was being perfectly honest, "Even just... the way you talk..." Had he really just said that? Ah, fuck it, Crowley was high (and tonguing him), it didn't matter.

"Mnn... How do I talk?" Crowley echoed Sam's last statement with a matching question, his words slightly slurred not only because of the blood, but because his tongue was, in fact, all over Sam. He brushed his hand down Sam's chest, groping him lightly... before firmly grappling at his thighs and rocking Sam's feet up into the air and his body back in the chair, spreading him and lapping up all of the substance that remained almost forcefully, humming into him.

The new position made Sam's stomach sink and his chest swell, humming in satisfaction. He hooked his arms behind the head rest, letting Crowley have free reign as long as he was doing... that. The sensations made that pleasurable, post-orgasm tightness swell back up, reverberating up his spine and flushing out his brain, "Mmm... " He purred, "You talk like..." He half smiled, half sighed as he thought about it, trying to put it into words while Crowley's tongue was making his stomach muscles do little jumps and his lips twitch, "Like all you're thinking about... mmmnis what position to fuck me in next." He hummed, voice husky.

Crowley's voice hummed amusedly into Sam at that explanation. "That's... so true..." He muttered, his eyes sharp. Sam breathed a smile. But then Crowley was nipping at the underside rounds of Sam's ass, running one more lick around the tight ring of muscle at Sam's entrance... before slowly lowering him back to the surface of the chair. "But... I'm also thinking... about more than that..." He nipped up Sam's skin, over thigh and stomach, chest. Sam watched, pleasantly dazed, half listening, half gasping amusedly as Crowley bit him. And then Crowley was lowering himself down over Sam, pinning him, and grabbing his length suddenly. Sam's grin opened up hazily. "... I'm thinking about this, too..." He lowered his lips to Sam's, still holding him possessively as he kissed him. "And... I'm thinking about... more than that..." His lips lowered to Sam's again, kissing him lazily.

Sam sank into the seat, arms coming down around Crowley's shoulders as he kissed him back, "Mm..." He replied in approval, wrapping his arms around Crowley and kissing him slowly, warmly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd kissed someone like that. But then again, he couldn't remember the last time he'd tasted cum and blood in the kiss. That and... did Crowley just say what Sam thought he said? For some reason, all of his hostility towards Crowley after their fight that morning faded, and Sam couldn't remember ever feeling so good beneath him. He held Crowley firmly, hips relaxing in Crowley's grip as their lips slid together intimately, "Mmm...like what?" He asked him back.

"I'm thinking... about... Mmm.." Crowley ran his hand up from Sam's hip over his side, feeling his warm skin and the tone of his body, kissing Sam between his words. Though each word seemed heavier. Like it was more and more difficult for Crowley to stay awake. "I'm thinking about how... long it's going to be... before I can think of an excuse... to see you again... mm..."  
Sam's kisses slowed, until he could hardly feel his lips. He could hardly feel anything at all, in fact, beyond the weight of Crowley's words.  
Was that... true?

Sam's brows came together, breaking the kiss gently to gaze up at Crowley. Crowley was doing this just to see Sam? Sam got a little rush of... something. But before he could even used to it, another thought turned the first cold. Was Crowley lying? How could Sam know for sure? Sam sobered up, fast.

Was this about Sam, or his blood? Was saving Dean just an excuse? Shit. Was Crowley even going to help Sam? Sam's eyes closed in defeat, feeling the world pulling him down.

Could demons even feel... that way?

Sam rested his head against Crowley's forehead while he just... pulled himself together. Would Crowley even remember this?

Finally, "I'm not going anywhere." He assured him, looking up weakly. And that was true. He needed Crowley to save his brother. But... he needed more than that now, didn't he? And that was his own fault.

In his current state of mind... Crowley didn't seem to even notice Sam's pause. He was smiling at him subtly. And then he was lowering his lips to Sam's jaw, tracing it with more kisses. "Mm. It... wouldn't matter..." he mumbled, pressing kisses into Sam's neck, nipping down his jugular to rest at the colorful bloom of a hickey there. He sucked and nipped at it between words. "You could run all you wanted... but I'd follow you... to the end of this boring world... Sam Winchester..."

Sam... swallowed. The fact that that statement initially made Sam feel better, made him feel much worse.

It was the blood. It was just the blood talking. That was easier to think about than how Crowley made him feel so good, and so lost; easier to think about than what would happen when he found his brother. Sam hadn't even gotten around to think about the fact that he'd be seeing him covered in hickeys. No, that didn't seem important now. It felt like the world around them had stopped.

Sam stroked a hand through the back of Crowley's hair, "I'm not running from anything anymore, Crowley." He said. He wished he understood enough of what was happening to him to know if that was still true. It seemed the only part of himself he still understood was the part that was Dean's brother. And that would never change. "But we have to find my brother first." He told him quietly, but certainly, closing his eyes and letting his head tilt back for Crowley lips and tongue. That devil's tongue. It was so perfect.

Crowley rumbled into Sam's neck in agreement. "Yes, yes... Find your brother." He hummed, sucking Sam's skin before moving just a little lower, nipping at his collarbone. His actions seemed a little slower, trailing his lips back up to Sam's jaw, then a kiss. "... For you, Sam." He mumbled against his lips... before closing his eyes and curling up atop Sam, his breathing slow and soft as he fell into intoxicated sleep.

Sam sighed softly, Crowley's words still spinning around his head. They probably would be for some time. He didn't know how to feel. So he just clutched Crowley close, took a breath, and settled in. He tried to think about his brother, but then he realized that Crowley had fallen asleep grabbing his dick and he stopped. He closed his eyes, glad his car had tinted windows, and let the weight of Crowley's body sink him into some sort of subconscious state. Not quite awake, not quite asleep, just... thinking. Wondering. About Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk about getting a lot out in the open. Amirite? #carsex
> 
> We're so tired. So many emotions. WE DIDN'T PLAN ON EMOTIONS!?!! On a related note, the next chapter will be Destiel. HOPEFULLY.
> 
> #whyDean
> 
> Hugs, kisses, and road head XOXOXO8==D


	17. Dean and Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel wake up together after the demon fight and reconcile.
> 
> Also Vanilla and I are back from the dead. Cheers ~

Hours had gone by, several of them. Dean wasn't sure exactly how many, he wasn't watching a clock, but he knew that it was probably a very good thing. He still felt Cas breathing softly and easily, and the glowing had subsided hours ago, so he was probably on track. He was probably about as healthy as he could be, all things considered.

Probably.

Dean clutched close to Castiel's body, grip tightening around his shoulder and into his hair. He'd grown used to the intimate warmth of their nude, intertwined bodies, he'd reached a comfort he didn't know he could reach ...with another man. Then again, it was Cas. And it was so familiar. So... inherently right. But despite just how comfortable he'd become, he couldn't help the occasional resurgences of fear. He didn't want to let this new comfort go. He wanted to feel this as long as he could-- and not just once. It was as terrifying as it was comforting. He closed his eyes, stroking his hand through Castiel's hair. The angel comfortably breathing beneath him... His angel. "... Cas," he breathed softly, pressing a long, warm kiss to his temple. Was it selfish of him to ...want him so much?

Castiel's eyes fluttered open, as if he'd been on the verge of waking. Bleary, blue eyes moved to Dean's form leaning over and kissing him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so connected with his sense of touch, of smell, of... everything. He'd forgotten how wonderful it could all be. Castiel's arm stirred beneath Dean, his fingertips feeling curiously up the warm, taut skin of Dean's back. He sighed comfortably, his other hand moving around Dean's waist to hold and feel him... "Dean." He hummed, closing his eyes against Dean's musk. He wasn't sure he understood how all of this happened, but he was grateful it had.

Dean's own eyes fluttered open. He picked his head up enough to confirm it, as nervous as he was happy to feel Castiel's hands move over his back. "Hey..." He greeted awkwardly, his eyes searching over Castiel's waking expression. "Um... How you feeling...?"

Castiel took a sleepy breath, brows coming together in thought as he woke more fully, "Hm..." He considered, pulling Dean a little closer instinctively, "..Good." He wasn't sure why he was acting that way, but moving after being still for several hours felt good. Moving against Dean... felt good, too, "How are you feeling?" He mumbled back. It seemed like the right thing to do.

"Um..." Dean hummed, staring Castiel in the eye. He felt his face flush. Castiel awake under him was completely different than Castiel asleep under him. He froze atop him, his skin heating. Finally, he continued. "... Good." His voice caught in his throat.

Maybe a normal human would've sensed something strange with the way that answer was given, but to Castiel, it sounded perfectly normal. Castiel was satisfied. Except... he felt like he should say something else. Looking at Dean's face, feeling the way they were interlocked... "Dean." He voiced, "I... thank you, for saving me." His wings ruffled, "I should've been there, with you, and I wasn't." He looked at him apologetically. And before Dean could reply, "I don't ever want to forget you." He reminded him. And it was still true. Demon or otherwise.

How was it that socially and emotionally unaware Castiel, in a matter of a few words... had said exactly what Dean needed to hear? An honest apology. The lingering sting of betrayal and hurt was suddenly gone, and Dean stared, open-mouthed. "Uh..." He slipped his hand out of Castiel's hair, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "... Yeah, that's... um..." He blinked. "... You're welcome. I-I mean... I..." He breathed, squishing his eyes shut and deflating atop Castiel. His hands moved to his sides, holding him close. "... You're not going to forget me, Cas. And I won't forget you because I won't... even get a chance to. So..." He closed his eyes again, going limp. "Yeah."

Castiel tried following those words, he really tried, but he didn't quite understand where each sentence was going before a new one began. After the third, he gave up, realizing he understood everything merely by the way Dean was going limp. Gradually, he held him closer, and after that final 'yeah', Castiel was hugging him tight, resting his chin on top of Dean's head. Even his wings curled around him, remembering that Dean could see them, feel them even. He'd never been able to share that with a human before. It felt... complete. He kissed Dean's head appreciatively.

"Hm?" Dean hummed, feeling Castiel's grip tighten around him with that kiss. Feeling the warm, tangible presence of wings wrap around him. And suddenly he didn't feel quite as awkward anymore. He breathed in a deep breath atop Castiel, relaxing. It was such a secure, warm embrace. He shifted himself slightly beneath those wings, pressing himself up against them, trying to let Castiel know that he could still feel them. And then he smiled.

Castiel felt it. He looked down at Dean, and when he saw that smile... Castiel smiled, too. It was a small, simple smile, like he didn't realize he was doing it. But it was there - half on his lips, and complete in his eyes.

Dean opened his eyes to the most adorable fucking smile he'd ever seen in his life. He blinked, his heart skipping a beat as he own expression dropped. "... Shit." He cursed, feeling the most inappropriate, loin-stirring reaction as he blood circulated through his veins at a much faster rate, compelling him to act. ... And freezing him at the same time. He laid there, stock still. Confused and utterly aware of everything all at once.

Castiel's smile faded seamlessly, looking at Dean with mild concern instead, "Is...something wrong?"

Dean blinked again. "U-uh... No! N-no... That's um..." He flushed, shaking his head, embarrassed at himself. "I just... You... You're fucking cute, man." He sputtered, utterly serious. "Cutest... fucking smile... ever..."

Maybe if Castiel hadn't been lying naked cuddled with Dean in bed, he wouldn't have understood what such a compliment had to do with anything. But it... no, it made sense. When you're a human, everything makes sense in bed, Castiel thought. So, completely aware that Dean was flustered because he thought Castiel was 'cute', Castiel leaned in gently, and kissed him on the lips, wondering if that would make Dean feel as good as the compliment made Castiel feel.

It worked. Dean sucked in a long, surprised breath through his nose, releasing it as his lips softened at Castiel's touch. He kissed back softly, his frozen body quickly melting and heating and igniting in a quick, domino-like fall. His hands slipped up over Castiel's sides, feeling his inviting nudity there, before wrapping up in his hair, holding him to him as Dean made sure that kiss continued, his lips parting in invitation.

Castiel was glad to feel that invitation. He parted his lips, too, anticipating Dean's musk turning into what had become Castiel's favorite taste even as it happened. It was even better than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Castiel sighed through his nose contentedly, drawing a hand up to Dean's cheek as he tasted him.

Even though he'd invited it, even though he'd been laying naked with Castiel for hours upon hours, feeling Castiel press the kiss into a more intimate territory... that was nerve wracking for Dean. And awesome. He sighed back, finding himself opening the kiss willfully, wanting more, and even though it was just a kiss, he felt his excitement begin to show, his shape pressing into Castiel below.

Castiel wasn't quite aware of the... mechanics... of their intended situation yet, so he didn't notice what was happening below. Although it was, in fact, happening to him as well. Castiel kissing Dean, Dean kissing back, it was so pleasurable. He could feel it in the warmth shared between their bodies. Realizing he could probably taste Dean more if he tilted his head, Castiel tilted his head. He opened the kiss gently, savoring every molecule of the experience. Dean was so... delicious.

"M-mm..." Dean buzzed into Castiel's mouth, flushing and surprised. For every bit of nerves that shuddered through him, Cas parried with another surprise. And a good one, too. Finally, the question echoing in his head becoming too loud to ignore, Dean's lips shifted away from Castiel's, words partially mumbled into his mouth as he pulled back. "Mmnwait, was that... Was that the first move?" He mumbled curiously, his question an honest one. And a tone overcoming him like he was prepping himself mentally for what was going to happen next. "We're doing this... Aren't we?" His breath was, however, undoubtedly laced with utter anticipation.

Castiel could hear it. He wasn't sure what he was hearing, but it made him feel warm in the best of ways. So he recalled what Dean had once said to him, and, feeling that it was appropriate, he replied, "I would like... to have you... Dean." He mumbled, staring at him hazily. He knew it was true, even if he didn't know exactly what it meant, or if it even answered Dean's question.

Dean's eyes widened, and he felt his heartbeat pick up. That was it. That was what he needed to hear. "A-ah... fuck. Yeah..." He leaned down again, quickly pressing his lips to Cas's in a short kiss. "Yeah... let me just... erm..." He sat up, looking Castiel over beneath him... then he ducked down, kissing him quickly again. "Let me just... get some things first. Yeah." Dean breathed, closed his eyes... then gently pushed Castiel's wings aside. Castiel moved onto his back so Dean could move off of him. He leaned back on his elbows, watching hazily as Dean sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, coming to terms with the fact that he was nude and excited, and about to scamper away into the room with his ass on all display for Cas to see...

Then he realized... his ass was about to be on display for Cas to see.

... Sweet.

He took a breath, collected himself, and stood. If they were going to do this, Dean might as well give it a test run to see just how ready Cas could get with a show.

Castiel wasn't sure what Dean was doing, but his eyes narrowed to Dean's backside as he strutted across the room to his bag (ignoring the dead demons still sprawled on the floor). Dean noted that his bag had been knocked to the floor, then cast his eyes back to Castiel with a devilish smirk. He turned his back to him, bent at the waist, and proceeded to shift through his belongings with his ass high in the air.

Yeah, Dean was getting... frisky again. Finally, the demonic flirtation was appropriately timed.

Castiel's head tilted with Dean's ass. He didn't even notice he was getting hard, or his wings were ruffling up, both equally on display for Dean.

Dean gave one last, unnecessary look through his bag, before finally standing up and turning back to Castiel. Who... looked exactly like Dean had hoped he would. Dean's flirtatious grin didn't falter, feeling a dark part of himself compelling his actions on further. "... You look good, Cas..." He rumbled, approaching him again. And when he'd finally reached the bedside, he let drop a small, tube of lube and a strip of condoms.

There was some significance to that tube and strip of things. Castiel knew it. But at the moment, he was a little distracted. Dean knelt on the bed one knee at a time, kicking over Castiel's lap to straddle him. Brows knitted together in vague confusion, Castiel looked straight down when Dean sat on him. He couldn't help it. Not that he was trying to. At all.

Dean knew his rush of confidence he knew wasn't really his. But he wasn't going to dispute it. Not now. Not when Cas had made his will known. He wanted this, too. He ducked his head down, and he kissed Cas, whose wings ruffled even more. This time, the kiss wasn't as exploring and innocent. It was filled with purpose and desire, and Dean softly tangled his fingers in Castiel's hair, tipping his head back as Dean's lips took his.

That kiss felt different than before. It made Castiel's body feel awake in an entirely different way. He tipped his head back for those lips and hands, the position pressing him a little more against Dean. Or maybe... that was Castiel. His hands grasped onto Dean's thighs, remembering that from the last time he'd performed sex. Dean's thighs could not have been more different. They were powerful and hard, smooth yet rough. His hands moved up Dean's thighs with near intoxicated curiosity, wanting, willing, to feel every inch of him within reach. By the time he got to Dean's hips, his touches were firm, and his kiss -- hungry.

Dean shifted his hips at Castiel's touch, scooting them forward then back, pressing against his thighs and back into his hands, encouraging him to feel him further. He hummed into the kiss, slipping his fingers through Castiel's hair as he tilted his head. Deepening that kiss as he sucked Castiel's tongue into his mouth.

Castiel could feel a shift in Dean, becoming more focused, purposeful. He wasn't sure how it happened, but he found it very agreeable. Partly because Castiel didn't really know what he was doing, but also because Dean seemed a little more like himself - confident, determined, maybe even a little reckless. Castiel had never noticed how... attractive he was. Castiel opened his mouth into the kiss for Dean's tongue, enjoying that quite a bit, and his hands roamed even further, finding the slopes of Dean's backside and enjoying that even more. He squeezed him instinctively, and was happy to find it sent a rush down his body. So he did it again, pulling Dean's hips closer to his body.

"Mn..." Dean grunted into Castiel's lips, sucking in a long breath in response. And then he was nipping lightly and playfully at Castiel's lip. "Cas..." He hummed, breathing against his lips. Then, with a smirk, he rolled his hips into Castiel's, rubbing himself against Cas's stomach... and rolling Castiel's length under his backside, slipping over the cleft of his ass. Against... He gasped quietly, the feeling grounding him and bringing him back. "Ah, Cas..." That was weird. That felt really... really weird. But... good?

Shit. That was pretty okay.

By the look of things, it was pretty okay for Castiel, too: His lips had parted, skin flushed and wings fanned out. His hips and hands (attached to Dean's butt) moved with the motion, causing him to arch against the bed and into Dean. He squeezed Dean's butt when it was over, as if silently urging him to do that again. Well, almost silently. His eyes had closed with a satisfied, yet longing hum, so deep it was hardly audible.

But Dean heard it. And... it was sexy. To not do exactly what he'd just done again would be a huge mistake. So, goddamn, he did it again. He pressed back into Cas's lap, and rubbed himself into his stomach in one solid roll, then he did it again. And again. It was heaven to Castiel.

"Ah... shit, Cas..." Dean mumbled, pausing to press a kiss down against his lips. "I... I'm ready to start this... I think." He smiled.

When Dean stopped, Castiel's wings and pupils were huge, not to mention, another part of him had gained a considerable amount of size, throbbing pleasantly against the fleshy rounds of Dean's backside. Still, Castiel stopped to kiss Dean back, listening to him hazily, but carefully.

"And I don't want to hurt you, so I... um." He closed his eyes.

Castiel could tell what Dean was saying was very important, but Castiel didn't really understand. In fact, there was so much of this he didn't understand. Dean being a man too was just icing on the PB&J. Wait. Was that right?

Dean sat up, running his hand down over his face. Then, carefully, he shifted off of Castiel, laying beside him on the bed. He turned his head to face Cas, a small, determined smile over his face. "... You can, um... have... me." Did he say that right? Shit, Dean wasn't even sure. Where did that demonic confidence go?

Castiel looked a bit lost. Aroused, but lost. Castiel switched positions with him, sitting up and looking over him, "I don't want to hurt you, either." He said seriously, "I... Dean." He couldn't find the words. He looked almost frustrated, "I don't understand... how..." He considered it. Then finally, raised his hands... and made little air quotes, ""Tail" works." He admitted, looking actually angelic, besides the ruffled black wings, messed up hair, swollen lips, and erection...

Oh... oh shit. How was that cute... and so fucking arousing all at once? Dean blinked, unsure where to start at first. Then... he laughed. He rolled into Castiel's side casually, rocking against him with more bursts of laughter.

Castiel tilted his head curiously. He put an arm over him to stop him from moving, and then, just to have an arm over him.

Meanwhile, Dean laughed and laughed. It felt good. Cathartic. He really needed to get his nerves out... and that worked wonders. Finally, after a few good moments, he sniffed, wiping away a tear. "Cas," he mumbled, looking up at him with misplaced amusement in his eyes. "I... I don't really know either." Another small laugh, clinging slightly to his side. "... Not... like this."

Oh.

Dean didn't know either. Well that didn't help. Although... Dean laughing sort of did. Castiel sighed, as if giving up on understanding humanity completely for the time being, and just... looked at Dean. Affectionately. He wiped a stray tear from his cheek as he calmed, "Then, maybe..." Castiel considered it, slowly shifting Dean onto his back. They were both men, so... this should work, right? Castiel straddled him, wings spread, "We can do this...like this?" He offered gently, but seriously.

As Castiel climbed over him, his midnight wings huge and spread and ruffled, with his arousal proud and on display before him... Dean blinked, his heart pumping faster again. "... Shit," he cursed under his breath, feeling the starkest stab of arousal yet as he openly fucked him with his eyes, made speechless all over again as Castiel filled his senses. "Um..." He mumbled, his hands slipping up over Castiel's knees, grabbing his thighs firmly. Strong thighs, skin soft but doubtless muscle built beneath. It made him feel a little heady. Even just that one touch, it wasn't like a woman at all. This was new territory.

Castiel watched Dean seriously as he spoke, eyes flickering hazily. But he was listening very closely.

Finally, Dean found Castiel's eyes again, relaxing back against the pillows below him, staring up through hazy eyes. "Shit, Cas... I mean... I have an idea, but I've... I've never actually done this before, so..." His gaze flicked away for a moment, his words forming. "If you're saying you'll, uh... take it..." (Castiel cocked his head) His hands slipped up Cas's thighs, groping his ass accidentally. Then he met his gaze again... and he groped him purposefully, making Castiel's eyes flutter slightly despite his intense gaze. Dean's voice was nearly a whisper, heated and anticipatory, when he continued. The slightest touch of concern lingering at the ends of his words. "... I don't wanna hurt you, Cas. I can afford it easy, but you... can't. You can't afford it at all."

Maybe Dean was right. It hurt slightly to admit it, but... Castiel felt safe with Dean. Knowing his grace was failing, being here with him... It was weird that now Dean was the impenetrable one, but being on the other side provided a level of intimacy that Castiel had never known. One he wanted deeply to indulge in, with Dean, "Alright." He conceded.

He laid himself down over Dean, stroking a hand lightly through his hair, "I will... do the taking." He muttered, kissing him gently, "But, you must promise to tell me if you are in pain." He continued, shifting his body against Dean, his length pressing gently against Dean's hip.

"Ah..." Dean looked surprised as Castiel pulled away from that kiss, blinking up at him comically. Now that they'd said it out in the open-- now that Cas had said it-- shit. It was real. Dean was going to... take a--"S-sure," he stuttered, feeling himself flush as Castiel pushed in over him. "Yeah... yeah, of course." He gulped, feeling Castiel's... gifted excitement press against his hip. Oh, yeah. Cas was definitely a little bigger than him. That was scary... but... exciting, too? Shit, it was. Shit shit shit. He was getting nervous again. "Can you, um..." He closed his eyes for a moment, pointing first to Cas, then himself. "... Can you kiss me again for a bit? Maybe, like... touch me, too?" He laughed. "You're fuckin' hot, man, but I think I need to calm down again, or I'm gonna lose my shit." He gave a nervous laugh, his body tensing again for sure.

Castiel, who was very, very, used to going at things blind, was still very calm... and very in the mood. Still, "...Yes, of course." he was happy to hear something so straightforward he could do for Dean, and didn't falter, aside from a slightly odd expression, which faded the moment he brought their lips together and kissed him.

He pressed him gently into the bed with kisses, something he felt confident that he could do now for Dean. He opened it up slowly, mirroring the little things Dean did from before. He sucked his tongue, finding his bottom lip and doing it there, too, before... Oh. Right. Touch him. Castiel shifted slightly, getting a hand between them, and took Dean's arousal into his hand, quite literally touching him. Castiel resumed the kiss.

Dean was thankful to feel himself gradually relax. He really was messed up emotionally. This was Cas. Even completely naive and uninformed, Cas wasn't going to do anything to hurt him, and even if it happened, it'd be okay. Dean could take a fuckton of damage and still be peachy because of the otherwise annoying demon thing. And one way or the other, this was happening. They were happening, before Dean missed out on something really important and regretted it probably forever. He sighed, feeling his arousal perk again. Feeling--

"M-mm..." He groaned up into Castiel's lips, feeling his hand on him. He panted between kisses, anticipating more, waiting... Man, Cas sure was a tease, he hadn't expected that... A really... big... tease. Finally, far too many moments later, it dawned on Dean. "Cas," he breathed, moving away from the kiss just enough to speak. "... You can move your hand, too." He suggested, giving a soft thrust of his hips up into Castiel's hand in encouragement.

Castiel's brows pulled together at Dean. And then, his hand moved. Castiel's lips hovered over Dean's, his expression turning to one of intimate curiosity as he pulled up on Dean's length. He did it again, that time, squeezing him gently, breathing softly over him.

Dean sucked in a fluttery breath, which he soon released in a powerful sigh. "Ohh... Yeah. There you go, Cas. Keep doing that..." He murmured under Castiel's lips, gently moving his hips with the motion of that hand. "Now... mn... Just keep kissing me... Wherever..."

Castiel was already about to kiss him again. But he stopped. Wherever? Castiel's hand slowed, as if he didn't know what to do with this information but desperately wanted... something.

"Hm?" Dean hummed curiously as Castiel's stroking nearly paused. He looked into his eyes just long enough to see that flicker of confusion, but his concerns were quickly forgotten as Castiel pressed a sweet kiss to his forehead. Then, his cheek. Then, drawn to the feel and smell of his skin, Castiel dipped down further and kissed Dean's neck, finding a spot by his ear.

Dean's eyes closed comfortably, his breathing leveling to a quickened pace. Soon, his body was moving for him, turning his head to the side. He shifted his hips slightly, pulsing them up instinctually as he realized just how... good that spot felt.

Realizing Dean liked it, Castiel continued to press kisses into his skin, lingering in that spot as his motions below become a discernible stroke. He pulled up over Dean's length and back down, leaving no inch of him untouched, finding himself syncing it absentmindedly with the pulse of Dean's hips. It all felt so... natural.

"Mmn..." Dean made a small, barely noticeable sound as Castiel found that rhythm. With barely any thought involved, Dean lifted his arms, lightly encircling Castiel with them. He dragged his fingers up and down Castiel's spine, mirroring the comfortable pace they'd established at hip level. Dean's body was naturally rocking against Castiel's hand, but with a bit of an unconscious grip, pulling him closer, he'd begun to curve into Castiel, grinding into him lightly. Feeling his answering arousal near his hip and feeling his breath pick up all the more because of it.

Just as Castiel's touches became more certain, so too did his kisses. His lips traveled across Dean's neck, up to his jaw, and when he returned to Dean's lips, his breath had picked up, too. As well as his appetite. He dipped his body into Dean's in answer to Dean's subtle grinding, rolling his hips into the motion. His eyes fluttered. Feeling Dean move like that beneath him, feeling himself moving with him, it was good. Very good. Was it because his length was rubbing against Dean's hip? Castiel looked down, and seemed to figure out what to do about it. Castiel repositioned himself, then took both of their arousals into his hand, continuing to stroke and roll his hips with a satisfied sigh.

Dean's eyes blinked open in confusion... only to quickly flutter shut again as Castiel took more than just Dean alone into his grip. He gasped quietly, thrusting into his hand and against him. "Ah... Y... Yeah, that's... mnyeah.." Dean articulated eloquently. His tone approved where his words hadn't quite been able to.

Castiel was prepared for hearing a lot of words from Dean that didn't actually form sentences. As long as Dean wasn't hurt. Castiel didn't mind. In fact, he kind of liked it. Dean was enjoying himself.

Castiel dipped his head back down, nuzzling and kissing Dean's neck as he stroked them. He found it was easier to do when he could feel it, too. He followed the aches and sighs of his body, stroking firmly, squeezing them together, not too fast or too slow... he wondered if they could complete sex like that. It felt like they could. It was so good. But, Castiel wanted more. He wasn't sure how, but he wanted it. He wanted... closer. Castiel repositioned his legs, lowering his hips and moving right up against Dean between his legs, moving their bodies together. His breath picked up, opening that kiss beside his ear.

The sudden move had Dean gasping in surprise. "O-oh... shit," Dean blinked, grasping a little closer to Castiel as well. Was Cas...? Was he just ... going in? "W... wait, here," Dean dropped one of his arms away quickly, shifting around in the sheets beside them for a few long moments. Finally, he lifted his hand back up. In it, he held the lube. "Um..." With a little more fidgeting, he brought the thing up over his head, and twisted the cap off with the aid of his other hand. Finally, he caught Castiel's eyes, and moved it between them, handing it over to Cas. "... Here. Use some of this first." He offered, the smallest of embarrassed smiles gracing his lips. And... there seemed to be another thing in the hand still above his head. A small, foil square.

Castiel blinked, the haze of his arousal parting slightly for a questioning look. His hips and hand had stopped moving, just holding their lengths together as he leaned against Dean's backside.

He took the tube in his free hand as Dean handed it to him, but just stared at the square in slowly mounting confusion. Finally, voice deep, he clarified, "Where?"

Dean's smile fell. "Uh..." He blinked. Wait. Had Cas figured it out? Or... "My, um... well, my..." Dean's eyes shut, and when they reopened, he was pressing himself back into the bed, spreading his legs as far as they could go, and holding his thighs apart. Slowly, a little hesitant at just how new the gesture felt, his hands slipped low, below his length. And with a steadying breath, he spread the fleshy globes of his ass, exposing, what he hoped... was an obvious enough answer. He peeked up at Cas, face flushing. "... My ... my ass, Cas." He whispered, trying not to laugh nervously, but very inappropriately, at how that had rhymed.

Castiel glanced down. Oh.

Oh.

He looked back up at Dean seriously. And, without a word, let their lengths go. His hand touched Dean's thigh, then, opening his palm, smoothed down his leg, feeling him all the way down. Dean's pulse raced. He didn't know his heart could go that fast without threat of medical problem, in fact, but it was. Castiel stared at Dean as he felt down to his... ass. Then further... he looked like he was unlocking a puzzle. A puzzle which suddenly made a lot of sense, once Castiel's fingertips felt over Dean's entrance.

"M-mn." Dean grunted, his hips jumping as Castiel's fingers touched him in a place he'd never felt touched intimately prior to that very moment, a place he rarely even gave a second thought to ever. But now...

Castiel's brows came together, his length heating up, and then, slowly beginning to explore the area, he pressed back down atop Dean gently, kissing him.

Dean was thankful for the that kiss. He knew how to do that, that was familiar. Dean sucked in a breath through his nose, baring down and sucking Castiel's lip, opening the kiss a little more, making it harder, more persistent. And, committed to it, he pressed his legs apart again, rearranging them slightly so they were more comfortable. "... Put... lube ...on your finger, Cas..." He mumbled between kisses.

Castiel paused, "Oh. Right." He agreed, his voice heated despite his naivety. His hand between Dean's legs paused as he looked down at the two items in his hands. Then, he paused, too, "Which is it?" He breathed, looking at Dean hotly... but lost. Should he... have brought protection? His blade was in his coat...

"It's--" Wait, what? Cas didn't even... "... Oh, you poor soul." He mumbled, shaking his head in mild pity. He took a breath, focusing on that for just a moment instead of his ever-present nerves. He sat up a bit, taking both the lube and the condom out of Castiel's hands at once. He put the condom aside. "Here, hold out your hand.." He said, accidentally bumping his body into Castiel's. He looked up. He laughed, then, he linked his arm around his back, keeping their bodies close as he explained.

Castiel followed Dean's instruction hazily, holding out his empty hand. Even though he'd only had sex once before, he preferred it much more this way. With Dean. It felt so intimate. He'd never felt so close to anyone... in his life. He appreciated Dean's arm coming around him, keeping him close. He wished he could've said so, but his mouth felt dry. So he waited patiently for Dean to explain what lube was, ready for them to figure this out together.

Seeing Castiel's hand outstretched, Dean squirted a small amount of lube out of the container. He paused. Then he added a little more for good measure. It was cool and clear. "So, um... There you go... lube." He announced, setting the tube aside. "It's gonna make things a little easier... probably... Here..."

Castiel stared speculatively at his hand, as if figuring out that lube was slang for lubricant. The thought was gone the next moment though, as Dean sat back against the bed again, and spread his legs a little more as his hand traveled down to Castiel's lower back. With his other, and a quick look into Castiel's gaze, he guided Cas's hand. Slowly, with the smallest amount of nervous hesitation, Dean had it lowered between his thighs. And then... he guided Cas's lube-coated fingers to his entrance, the slick substance covering him. "Ooh," he jumped a little, then laughed. "... It's cold." After another anxious moment, Dean let his own hand travel to Castiel's hip, holding him. "So, uh... now you should... push it in, and um..." He cleared his throat, his face flushing. "... You gotta get me ready by like... warming me up, you know? Um... using your fingers, feeling me, er..." He blinked. "Stretching ... me. For... your dick." Oh, shit. He was getting so hard again. Even Cas just touching him there, and talking like that to him? It was like some weird... instructional dirty talk fantasy. Fuck. Dean hadn't known that something like that would do it for him, but damn... it was.

Finally, absorbing everything he learned (despite how aroused he was now - for some reason), Castiel worked the lubricant in his hand and, gently, rubbed one finger against Dean's entrance. For a brief moment, Castiel's eyes paled, and suddenly the lube was warm. Warm enough to (hopefully) ensure Dean's comfort as Castiel slowly began to push in, blue eyes taking in Dean's sight before him carefully.

For some reason, Dean was expecting a reply of some sort. But when, suddenly, Cas was touching down and pushing in--inside of him... Dean was surprised. Pleasantly. But surprised. "O-oh..." He gasped, his eyes fluttering shut as he let his head drop back against the pillows. It didn't hurt (to Dean's surprise), and it wasn't mind bogglingly pleasurable... but it wasn't bad. No... it was nice. Weird, but... nice. All of this was going through his mind as he panted lightly against the bed, and his legs parted a little more. "Y... yeah... I think..." He breathed, his voice shaky with poorly hidden arousal. "... This... is right." He tried to smile, but soon his eyes were fluttering shut again as he focused on his breathing.

Castiel thought so, too. However, he had no idea how a dick was supposed to fit in there. But with the sight in front of him, Dean spreading his legs, eyes closing shut, Castiel... didn't really care. He slid his finger in until he physically couldn't anymore. Dean inhaled audibly. That... that was a weird feeling. Again, not inherently pleasurable, but it sure did turn him on. Then, watching Dean heatedly, Castiel slid it out, and did it again. He wasn't sure why, but it what his body wanted, so he went with it. Specifically, his hips. They trembled as Castiel's eye caught sight of him entering Dean below. He looked back up, brows relaxed and eyes hazy, and suddenly wanted to be closer to Dean. So he did. He smoothed one hand up his body as his other seated itself entirely inside of him again, dipping his head down to kiss the side of Dean's face appreciatively.

Dean's eyes opened, and he found Castiel's quickly. "... Keep doing that, Cas.." He practically commanded, his voice low and raspy.

Castiel understood commands very well. He withdrew his finger again, then sank it in, just as deep, laying gently with Dean and kissing him. First his jaw, then his ear, his cheekbone, caressing him with slow, contented kisses as he fingered Dean experimentally below. He was tight, but he was beginning to loosen up. "Relax." Castiel commanded back, softly, but persistent. He wanted this to feel good. Assuming it could. He wasn't sure.

Dean released a long breath, smiling a little. He didn't mean to be, but maybe he wasn't relaxed enough yet. "Okay, yeah..." He breathed, closing his eyes again. His knees dropped a little and he breathed out slowly.

"How does it feel?" Castiel asked, raspy voice laden with heat and curiosity.

"It's... it's not bad. I mean... I... like it."

Castiel seemed satisfied with that. He was also having an easier time sliding his finger in and out. So, still trying to figure out how this was going to work, he decided. He glanced down, staying close to Dean, and gently added a second finger.

"A-ah..." Dean gasped, instinctually tightening up at the sudden intrusion. He looked up at Cas with the slightest bit of discomfort mirrored in his expression, and Castiel almost stopped. But then Dean closed his eyes again, blowing out a long, stream of air, focusing on that breathing again... and he was back. Relaxed. And honestly... "Shit..." He cursed in a raspy tone. It was ... pretty okay. He spread his legs again, and not even thinking about it, he arched his back, pushing into Cas and his fingers.

Castiel realized that was a good curse on Dean's lips. He felt his body warm as a result, not sure why. But in the next moment, he was lowering a hand and idly, lazily, stroking himself as he fingered Dean, gently nuzzling and kissing at his skin as he took his time. This was... nice. Castiel didn't remember feeling this kind of nice the last time he had sex. Gradually, he got both of his fingers all the way inside of Dean, and began pushing in and out. It was hard to navigate with two in there, but he could feel so much more of Dean, and he liked it. He felt every inch of him he could before pushing in and doing it again.

Somewhere along the path that Castiel was feeling, there was a place that... well, Dean understood how this could work out. Amidst his heavy breathing and concentration, he very suddenly released a short gasp of a moan, arching hard off the bed and into Castiel's body. Leveled breathing became short pulls of breath as his eyes opened, struggling to find Castiel's gaze again. "F-fuck..." He swore when he found it, his pupils had blown and his body opened up, asking for more whether Dean wanted it or not. "What... what was that?" He asked, stunned. Had Castiel just... used some grace or something?

Castiel paused, meeting that desperate gaze with mild alarm. Those had been good sounds, too, right? Castiel looked at him in confusion, "I don't know." He admitted, "Should I stop?" He asked, two fingers deep in Dean.

"No." The answer was out of Dean's mouth before he could even think. "No, please..." He shook his head, his arms slipping over Castiel's body to hold just behind his shoulders in an effort to steady himself. "Just... keep doing what you're doing, Cas... Oh... fuck, please... just keep it up..." Dean was rolling down onto Castiel's fingers as his skin heated, humming in slight disappointment as he couldn't find whatever that feeling was again on his own.

Oh. Castiel liked seeing Dean do that. Without another word, Castiel pulled his fingers back out and slowly, pushed back in, feeling Dean even more thoroughly that time. He forgot all about his own pleasure as he watched Dean, his heated breath shallowing in curiosity.

"Ohh..." Dean groaned, his head rolling back as his hips jolted and rolled slowly onto Cas's fingers. Shit. He'd found it. "Right there... Just... right there, Cas... Please..." He groaned, his voice breathy and desperate. If he weren't concentrating so much on just how surprisingly good that felt, maybe he would have questioned whether that voice really was his. But he was very distracted.

That voice sent a wave of heat down Castiel's body. He didn't think twice. He felt inside of Dean right where he said, finding a small lump, and pressed into it.

"Oh.... fuck..." Dean cursed, throwing his head to the side as the oddly satisfying sensation jumped through him. His body rolled again, pushing down on Castiel's fingers as he lost all shame. One of his hands fell from Castiel's shoulder, and as he continued to cling to him with the other, Dean's fingers slipped down his own stomach until he was grasping around his arousal, stroking slowly, spreading the accumulated bead of precum at his tip.

Castiel's eyes raked over Dean. His desire to fill him was becoming so strong that Castiel could only compare it to experiencing hunger or thirst as a human. It was a physical need. But he kept fingering Dean, massaging that spot with his fingers, because he desire to see Dean like this was just as strong.

"Dean..." He mumbled appreciatively, placing kisses over Dean's jaw, as below, he added a third finger.

"Fu-fu... ck...." Dean groaned, tensing up in the slightest again. It hurt a little, so he released a long, drawn out breath in an attempt to calm himself, stroking over his arousal with slow, practiced purpose. But adjusting to that many fingers was a little difficult. "C.. Cas..." He breathed. "Touch me... in that place again... Please..." He was already relaxing a bit just from his self strokes, but... he liked giving Castiel an excuse to touch him more.

Castiel was happy to oblige. Knuckles deep inside of Dean, Castiel curled his fingers, finding that spot and rubbing it intimately with the pads of his fingers.

"A-aah..." Dean moaned, his body almost instantly slumping in some weird, almost submissive relaxation. He was okay with this spot. He tugged over his length firmly, hissing out his approval. Just as his back started to slowly curl into Castiel's body, his hand was being brushed away, and replaced with... "O-oh... Cas..." He breathed.

Castiel had shifted himself to take Dean's length into his hand as he massaged him from the inside, developing a sudden urge to be solely responsible for his pleasure. He looked at Dean, urging him to lay back despite Castiel's own begging arousal. That could wait. Seeing Dean like this was satisfying enough as it was.

Dean let his arms slump to his sides, just letting the sensations wash over him for a few moments.

Castiel wasn't prepared for how aroused that made him. He studied Dean intently, almost hungrily, as those touches made his body hum with sensation, quite unlike anything he'd ever felt. It was so much more than molecules - his length throbbed without any contact whatsoever.

A moment later though, Dean was realizing how stupid he felt. Hell, he wanted to feel more of Cas... He slipped his arms over Castiel's shoulder and back, running his fingers along his spine, feeling him. He was moving in time with Castiel's motions, rocking up and against him, and gently he thrust his arousal into his hand. But he wanted more, he couldn't explain it, he just wanted--

More. Oh.

"A-ah... Cas," he began, his pulse picking up.

Castiel responded without missing a beat, "Yes, Dean?" Although his voice was deep and gravelly.

Dean opened his eyes, finding Castiel's gaze. "I..." He began, filled with shallow breaths, desire... and a little more. He clung hard to his back suddenly, pulling in against him. "... I'm ready... for you." He whispered, a mix of near desperation and embarrassment mingling in his tone.

Castiel stared heatedly at Dean. He understood that reference. Castiel removed his fingers, spreading Dean's thighs apart and settling between them solidly. He looked back up at Dean, holding his own length at Dean's entrance, pupils blown in want, giving Dean a moment to change his mind.

Dean was almost surprised that Castiel understood what he meant the first time, but all in the same, he was grateful. As hot as it kind of was to explain how sex with dudes probably worked, it was also embarrassing as all hell. But all of those thoughts left him as Dean saw Cas more than situate between his thighs, but actually touch his tip to his entrance. Oh... shit.. this was happening. Dean's mind went blank, so many thoughts passing through all at the same time, but despite all the embarrassment and connotations and doubt that floated in his mind, what stood out the most was just how much Dean wanted this. So for once, he shut himself the hell up.

That was all the go-ahead Castiel needed. He looked down.

Dean sucked in a deep breath... And the next moment, it was quickly leaving him in a long, loud groan. Cas was pushing in...

Castiel's eyes rolled back, head tipping back slightly with the faintest of pleasured hums as his wings rose behind him. This. This was what his body was craving. This was how Castiel wanted Dean. Inside of him. He was so warm... everywhere.

Castiel's eyes fell back down to Dean's face, wings flaring out with every centimeter deeper. He leaned down, guiding his arousal in with one hand, the other steadying himself as he found Dean's lips in utter desperation. He kissed him, but, unable to focus on anything but the pleasure as he kept going, it fell, and he pressed their foreheads together, breathing... "...Dean..."

Shit. It hurt a little... but it was so satisfying all in the same. Dean arched back, his mouth gaping open as he closed his eyes and attempted to breathe past just how.. big Castiel felt inside of him. Shit... Yeah, fingers weren't a dick, for sure. He tensed up, breathing in short pants, grateful again to feel Castiel's lips on him. "... Cas..." He hummed back as he felt his forehead on his, clutching hard to his back. He wasn't going to complain, it would get better soon. "Oh... fuck..."

Castiel was lost in Dean's sounds, in his body, it felt so good, so much better than before. Finally, Castiel felt his hips push into Dean's backside, and he slowed to a stop, leaning his body on Dean with a satisfied sigh. Oh, this was good.

Castiel opened his eyes to Dean's. He caressed his cheek, admiring how handsome he looked in that moment... how Castiel had gone so long without noticing it. He dipped in for a kiss, savoring the moment as their bodies melted together.

Dean's eyes fluttered, then closed again, feeling Castiel's lips on him. "Mm... " he hummed into it. Suddenly, all of the tension and doubt melted away, and he relaxed. Dean hardly noticed just how much he was relaxing until: "Oh, shit..." He cursed in surprise, his voice cracking in pleasure. It was all too suddenly apparent just how ... okay it felt. More than okay, but like... full on good. Suddenly, Dean was reconnecting and deepening their kiss, wanting more and more of him with each second.

Luckily, Castiel didn't intend to give him up anytime soon. Listening to the pull of his body now, Castiel shifted himself atop Dean, so he could roll his hips against him gently, rubbing his length inside of Dean. That felt good. So Castiel did it again, this time pulling out a little more, then pushing back in.

Castiel sighed in satisfaction, kissing Dean a little more purposefully.

"O-oh... Cas.." Dean gasped away from their kiss momentarily. Yeah, he still felt flecks of pain, but he felt more than that now. It was good. Nice. He breathed carefully before he pressed back in for another kiss. A kiss that got a little hot by itself. Before he knew what he was doing, Dean was linking his arms behind Castiel's neck, breathing hard.

Castiel could sense some discomfort in Dean, but his brain was so muddled with sensation that he couldn't think of why. So as Castiel's thrusts became more a little more frequent, Castiel's hand moved between them and took Dean's length into his grip. Just, holding it, and Dean clenched. With another gradual thrust, he made a soft noise, as if remembering something, then began stroking him. It was difficult to coordinate, but Castiel was dedicated. That and, Dean felt so good, that Castiel couldn't stop touching him. He kissed his lips, then his cheek, his jaw, all the while gaining more coordination with his thrusts, as well as his hand, as he slowly began picking up the pace.

"A-ahh... Fuck..." Dean breathed, his body sparking with pleasure and slumping at the touch. This was so... new. Different. But... good. Fucking amazing. The simultaneous sensations were just... amazing. "Y-yeah... just like... Yeah, fuck, Cas... Touch me just like ... that..." He gasped, completely uncertain what was coming out of his mouth, just that Cas just ...needed to keep going.

Castiel half hummed, half growled in acknowledgement. He was... turned on. Understandably so, but still, Dean was so intoxicating. Castiel panted openly, wings spreading to their full size as his body finally found a good pace and he went with it. He trusted steadily, hotly, into Dean, stroking him absent-mindedly below. It was so good. He tipped his head back for a moment, bringing his hips all the way to Dean's ass with every stroke, just trying to keep his head, "Is that good?" He breathed, eyes swimming down to Dean. He looked wrecked with the pleasure, wings shimmering midnight blue.

Dean's eyes fluttered open at the question, and the sight they opened to... "F... fuck," he spat, barely able to form words. Cas was... beautiful. "Y... Yeah, Cas... Fuck yes..." He heaved in another breath, pleasure and desire and awe written so plainly over his expression. And it was then that he noticed it.. it didn't really hurt anymore. Dean smiled softly, and with another pull of shaking breath, he began to roll his hips back into Cas with his every thrust, gasping at just how deep Cas was getting, at how fucking all right this was.

Castiel couldn't figure out why, but that smile made his body warm all over. So when Dean rolled his hips back, Castiel's confused and aroused expression changed. His head tipped back as his hips thrust forward, brows relaxing and a sigh tumbling off his lips. That was... good. He looked back down to Dean, determination renewed, and pulled up over Dean's length as he brought his hips all the way up to Dean's ass. He hummed quietly in his throat. Then he rolled his hips back and did it again. And again. Picking up the pace gradually. One hand moved to Dean's hip to encourage him to move again, but it ended up feeling over Dean's body. Up his stomach and chest. Castiel couldn't help himself. He lowered himself down over Dean's chest and kissed him.

Dean sighed a heavy groan. "Nnnm... ah, Cas..." Dean moaned, the depth to which Castiel was reaching boggling what little thought capacity he possessed. He rolled his hips back into Castiel's naturally, rocking them right back up into his hand, then back again, his body repeating the process over and over, timing up with Castiel's thrusts. "Sh... shit, you're... so... this is gnnnmm--" He began, before being cut off by Castiel's lips in a kiss... that was entirely all right. Dean's eyes closed and he hummed happily, kissing back without any further suggestion as he continued to roll into Cas's hips, into his hand, then back again. Giving muffled groans the entire time.

Castiel could hardly fathom the pleasure that ensued. But it was very real, and the way it moved through his body was undeniable. Castiel broke the kiss, staring down at Dean in disbelief at how good this was, before his breath was stolen away and he closed his eyes with a sigh of a groan, "Dean..." His pace finally reached its peak, rolling into Dean over and over again as he closed his fist over Dean's length, stroking him purposefully, "Keep... doing.. that." He whispered. His wings were huge, draping on either side of Dean.

Dean's groan became audible as soon as Castiel separated their lips, and it was breathy, throaty, and a lot louder than he had been to that point. "Fuuuuuuck... yeah," Dean nodded furiously, rolling against Cas and into his fist a little more purposefully than even before. "You, too... you--ahh!" He burst, his rolls staggering for a moment. He'd found it, that spot from before, the one that made everything one thousand times better. "Fuckfuckfuckfuck--Cas... Shit, Cas...!" Deans rolls immediately became a little wider, his body moving like a wave crashing into Castiel over and over.

Castiel was glad Dean was taking his advice, even if it was a lot. He wasn't going to complain. It felt incredible. But then, Castiel realized what was going on. That spot. Castiel felt for it through Dean's rolls, and even though it meant giving up some of his coordination, he angled his thrusts right into it, moving deeply and hotly into Dean.

"Cas...!" Dean gasped, stalling for a moment as Castiel's thrusts all repositioned, aiming right for that sweet spot. He'd stopped only for a moment though. Soon, the pleasure was too much, and Dean's rolls finally continued, feeling Castiel in his ass against that spot, then thrusting into his hand and over again. Shit, it was good. He caught himself clinging hard to Castiel's upper back, breathing erratically in his ear. "Fuck, Cas... fuck... fuck..."

Castiel didn't mind. It meant he was servicing Dean right. That and, hearing him like that was some sort of aphrodisiac in itself. He let Dean cling to him and pant and moan, each sending Castiel's pleasure soaring higher. He focused on that spot in Dean, that and pulling over Dean's length, as Dean's body poured waves of pleasure over him. It was better than anything he had ever experienced on Earth. And it kept getting better, in fact. So much so that Castiel felt a shift in his body. His wings shivered, breathing heavily. He couldn't count how many times he'd driven into Dean.

Dean was beginning to recognize a shift of his own. Only he could put a name to it, and it rattled him so pleasantly. "Sh-shit, Cas... Cas, I'm gonna... I'm..." His grip got tighter, squeezing Castiel all that he could. His legs separated even more, and instinctually, he circled his legs about Cas, putting the strength of his legs into it as well, matching Castiel's thrusts to slam him even harder against that spot. "Sh... fuck! I'm... gonna come, Cas..."

Castiel... didn't know what that meant. But from the way Dean squeezed him and picked his legs up, Castiel was sure it was a good thing. He gaped pleasurably at the sensations, inspiring him to do exactly as Dean said. That and... Castiel would be lying if Dean's strength didn't arouse him just the slightest bit more. Castiel drove into him firmly again and again, wings ruffling, gripping the sheets on either side of Dean's head.

Dean swore as Castiel's thrusts continued so perfectly, his pleasure soaring. And with only one more thrust, one more stroke, and the last hit to that sweet spot, Dean was groaning loudly, Castiel's name on his lips as his body seized and his pleasure peaked, bursting in his long-awaited release. "A-ah... C... Cas!" He moaned, the angel's name filling the room as Dean's seed spilled onto his chest and Castiel's hand.

Dean's voice was like music. But Castiel was distracted. It felt like he was leaking, like he was pushing close to something big, and Dean tightening beneath him... Oh, it felt good. "Dean..." He rasped, unable to stop. And when he looked at him and realized Dean was orgasming, because of him, Castiel felt that something overcome him.

Castiel's eyes fell closed, brows coming together as his back bowed and he orgasmed, too, a gasp falling off open lips. He buried himself in Dean out of pure instinct, body seizing up with a quiet but rapturous groan as he filled Dean with his seed. He knew they were both men, he knew he was an angel and Dean... a... demon. But the satisfaction of the act was so powerful that Castiel felt a fierce wave of protection wash over him. He wanted Dean. He wanted to live, for Dean. No one else was going to harm him. Ever.

"Oh... Fuuuck..." Dean swore, feeling a sensation fill him that was very, very new. And odd. But not... bad. Like all of this. In the end, it was just as good as the rest of it, causing him to spasm up another time, his body rocking with the tremors of his orgasm.

Finally, after ages of pleasure, his body relaxed. Castiel's head drooped. And when Dean slumped into the sheets, entirely spent, Castiel followed. He leaned over him, just taking in his scent. The scent of slickness between them...

That's when Dean realized... he'd just gotten off to Cas... coming inside of him. His eyes blinked shut, arms slumping in to cover his face, legs still wrapped around Castiel's waist.

Castiel had picked his head up slightly, then took an article of clothing nearby and gently wiped Dean clean before laying on him, scoping his arms beneath him, ...peering confusedly at Dean's fingers covering his face...

"... Mmm..." Dean hummed, embarrassed, but feeling... "That was..." He peeked out between his fingers. "... That was fucking ...good." His voice was nearly a whisper.

Castiel's confusion dissipated, feeling oddly relieved, "I am..." He paused. Then, he lifted a hand to Dean's face, gently prying his fingers away and taking one of Dean's hands in his. Dean's hand moved away at Castiel's suggestion with ease, and his other was soon to follow, simply resting to his side. Castiel gave him a knowing, but exhausted look, "I am happy to hear that." He said. Then paused again, as if looking like he didn't know what to say to possibly communicate how good he felt being with Dean in that moment. So Castiel gave him a weak smile instead. Just for a moment, eying him patiently, affectionately afterwards.

Dean couldn't help but return the look. A relaxed, genuine smile pulled into his features. He squeezed Castiel's hand, bringing it back up to his lips. He kissed it fondly. "... I love it when you smile." He said softly, but with absolutely no trouble. It was true. Castiel's smile could melt him so easily.

Castiel was beginning to see that. He opened his mouth to speak, watching Dean kiss him fondly, "Then, perhaps, I will do it...more often." He decided. Although he was beginning to realize he'd do anything for those eyes, those lips...

That made Dean smile even wider. It only relaxed when Castiel dipped in again, sharing another kiss with him.

Fuck, that had gone so perfectly... So... Wait. Too perfectly. He felt like he'd forgotten something...

Shit. He'd gotten off to Castiel blowing his load inside of him. Inside.

"Ah... fuck," Dean snapped back from the kiss, looking immediately down to their connection point. "Fuck, Cas we... We forgot the condom." He looked up at him helplessly. That was bad, right? That's how like... AIDS happened, right?

Castiel... opened his eyes. What? He glanced down in the direction Dean was staring, then looked back up seriously, "What's.. a condom?"

Dean blinked. Oh. Right. Cas was new at this. "Uh, it's... It's what you use to, um..." He reclined back again, thinking how to explain it. "... It's, like... sexual protection."

Castiel's brows came together. Sexual protection? Castiel stared at Dean, "Protection from what?"

"Uh..." Dean was not a Sex Ed teacher... Not like this, anyways. He was a little lost. "Well... diseases, I guess. And..." What, babies? That wasn't an issue here, and --- "Wait," he blinked. "... I can't get sick like that now... can I? Can you?" He leaned up again, pushing himself up on his elbows as curiosity spread over his expression. "You can't get sick from humans, Cas, right?"

Castiel's brow furrowed even more, "I... don't think so." He replied. Although, really, he wasn't sure, "This is all...very new to me." He said, "And with my grace, I..." He made a small sound then stopped talking. He cleared his throat, "I've never been sick before." He looked up at him, unmoved, laying on Dean's chest comfortably.

That small sound and Castiel's words brought Dean back. Right... Grace. He cleared his head, relaxing back again and pulling Cas to him tight. He was silent for a few moments before he spoke again, and when he did, he was quiet. "... We probably don't need the condom since we're... yeah. Not human.

"So..." He kissed the side of his face, not really sure how to continue. "...How are you feeling?" He continued after several moments.

That kiss brought Castiel back as well. He took a breath, "Good. ...Better than I have been in a long time." He admitted, bringing a hand up to stroke the side of Dean's face. His eyes were deep blue, wings frazzled but now laying gently around Dean, "How do you feel?"

Dean sighed thankfully. "Well... If you're feeling good, then I'm feeling great." He smiled... then flushed, suddenly aware of the oddly full feeling inside of him again. "And... hell... the sex was actually pretty awesome, so... Feeling even better."

"Good." Castiel replied. He wanted to lay with Dean, inside of him, for as long as possible. He'd never known comfort like this. But, still... "Should we clean up?" He asked hesitantly, glancing at the bodies and clothes around them.

"Uh..." Dean blinked, looking around, too. Fuck... he didn't want to deal with all of this. "Well... Eventually..." he responded, sounding slightly dejected. But when he caught Castiel's face again, he paused, a small smile overcoming him again. "Why don't we just deal with it later... Yeah?" He laughed lightly, still a little embarrassed, but ... obviously enjoying the time together.

Castiel seemed to consider this greatly, then, "I like that idea." He agreed, ignoring the general chaos around them and kissing Dean fondly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE LAAATE WE'RE SO SORRY!!!  
> Vanilla and I were busy with some end of summer work stuff and we could barely write at all. Hopefully we'll get back to weekly updates. Cuz everybody needs some Mooseley/Desty in their life.
> 
> Buy hey,
> 
> *sirens in background* *cheering* *sex gong dinging* DEAN GOT LAID! YEEAAAH! *confetti exploding*
> 
> http://tinyurl.com/nz7xgsl
> 
> Love and dicks <3 <3 <3


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